. 


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Illustrated  Cabinet  Edition 


Life  of  William  H.  Prescott 


By 

George  Ticknor 


Boston 

Dana  Estes  &  Company 
Publishers 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  f86j 
By  George  Ticknor 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  District  of 
Massachusetts 


TO 

WILLIAM  HOWARD  GARDINEB 

AND 

WILLIAM  AMORY. 

We  are  more  than  once  mentioned  together  in  the  last  testamentary  dll* 
positions  of  onr  friend,  as  persons  for  whom  he  felt  a  true  regard,  and  to 
whose  affection  and  fidelity  he,  in  some  respects,  intrusted  the  welfare  of 
those  who  were  dearest  to  him  in  life.  Permit  me,  then,  to  associate  your 
names  with  mine  in  this  tribute  to  his  memory. 


GEOKGE  TICKNOB 


PREFATORY  NOTICE. 


THE  following  Memoir  has  been  written  in  part  pay¬ 
ment  of  a  debt  which  has  been  accumulating  for 
above  half  a  century.  But  I  think  it  right  to  add,  that 
my  friend  counted  upon  me,  in  case  I  should  survive  him, 
to  prepare  such  a  slight  sketch  of'  his  literary  life  as  he 
supposed  might  be  expected,  —  that,  since  his  death,  his 
family,  and  I  believe  the  public,  have  desired  a  biograph¬ 
ical  account  of  him  ampler  than  his  own  modesty  had 
deemed  appropriate, — and  that  the  Massachusetts  Histor¬ 
ical  Society,  who  early  did  me  the  honor  of  directing  me 
to  prepare  a  notice  of  their  lamented  associate  such  as  it 
is  customary  to  insert  in  their  official  proceedings,  have 
been  content  to  accept  the  present  Memoir  as  a  substi¬ 
tute.  It  is,  therefore,  on  all  accounts,  offered  to  the 
public  as  a  tribute  to  his  memory,  the  preparation  of 
which  I  should  not  have  felt  myself  at  liberty  to  refuse 
even  if  I  had  been  less  willing  to  undertake  it. 

But  if,  after  all,  this  Memoir  should  fail  to  set  the 
author  of  the  “Ferdinand  and  Isabella”  before  those 
who  had  not  the  happiness  to  know  him  personally,  as 
a  man  whose  life  for  more  than  forty  years  was  one 
of  almost  constant  struggle,  —  of  an  almost  constant  sac¬ 
rifice  of  impulse  to  duty,  of  the  present  to  the  future,  — 
it  will  have  failed  to  teach  its  true  lesson,  or  to  present 
my  friend  to  others  as  he  stood  before  the  very  few  who 
knew  him  as  he  was. 


Park  Street,  Boston,  November,  1863. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  L 

Bieth  and  Parentage.  —  Early  Training.  —  Removal  to  Bobtov 

—  Dr.  Gardiner’s  School.  —  Life  at  Home.  —  Love  of  Books. 

—  Difficulty  of  obtaining  them.  —  Boston  Athenaeum.  —  Wil¬ 

liam  S.  Shaw. —  Favorite  Books. —  Studies. — Early  Friend¬ 
ship. — Amusements. — Enters  College . 1 


CHAPTER  H. 

College  Life.  —  Good  Resolutions.  —  Injury  to  his  Sight.  — 
Immediate  Effects.  —  State  of  his  Eye.  —  Relations  with  the 
Person  who  inflicted  the  Injury.  —  Studies  subsequent  to 
the  Injury.  —  Mathematics.  —  Latin  and  Greek.  —  Phi  Beta 
Kappa  Society.  —  Graduated.  —  Studies.  —  Severe  Inflamma¬ 
tion  of  the  Eye.  —  His  Character  under  Trial.  —  Anxiety 
about  his  Health.  —  Is  to  visit  Europe  .....  15 


CHAPTER  EX 

Visit  to  St.  Michael’s.  —  His  Life  there.  —  Suffering  nr  hie 
Eye.  —  His  Letters  to  his  Father  and  Mother;  to  his  Sister; 
and  to  W.  H.  Gardiner . 31 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Leaves  St.  Michael’s.  —  Arrives  in  London.  —  Privations  there. 

—  Pleasures.  —  Goes  to  Paris.  —  Goes  to  Italy.  —  Returns  to 
Paris.  —  Illness  there.  —  Goes  again  to  London.  —  Travels 
little  in  England. —  Determines  to  return  Home.  —  Letter 
to  W.  H.  Gardiner . 40 


CONTENTS. 


viii 


CHAPTER  Y. 

Return  from  England.  —  Rheumatism.  —  First  Literary  Adven¬ 
ture.  —  Decides  not  to  be  a  Lawyer.  —  Falls  in  Love.  —  Mar¬ 
ries.  —  Continues  to  live  with  his  Father.  —  Swords  of  his 
Grandfather  and  of  the  Grandfather  of  his  Wife.  —  His 
Personal  Appearance. — Club  of  Friends. — The  “Club-Room.” 

—  Determines  to  become  a  Man  of  Letters.  —  Obstacles  in 
his  Way.  —  Efforts  to  overcome  them.  —  English  Studies. — 
French. — Italian.  —  Opinion  of  Petrarch  and  of  Dante. — 
Further  Studies  proposed.  —  Despairs  of  learning  German  47 

CHAPTER  VI. 

He  studies  Spanish  instead  of  German.  —  First  Attempts  not 
earnest.  —  Mably’s  “  Etude  de  l’Histoire.”  —  Thinks  of  writ¬ 
ing  History.  —  Different  Subjects  suggested.  —  Fekdinand 
and  Isabella.  —  Doubts  long.  —  Writes  to  Mr.  A.  H.  Everett. 

—  Delay  from  Suffering  in  the  Eye.  —  Orders  Books  from 
Spain. —  Plan  of  Study. —  Hesitates  from  the  Condition  of 
his  Sight.  —  Determines  to  go  on.  —  His  Reader,  Mr.  English. 

—  Process  of  Work.  —  Estimates  and  Plans  ....  07 

CHAPTER  VH. 

Death  of  his  Daughter.  —  Inquiries  into  the  Truth  of  the 
Christian  Religion.  —  Results.  —  Examines  the  History  of 
the  Spanish  Arabs.  —  Reviews  Irving’s  “  Granada.” —  Studies 
for  his  Work  on  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.  —  Begins  to  write 
it.  —  Regard  for  Mably  and  Clemencin.  —  Progress  of  his 
Work.  —  At  Pepperell.  —  At  Nahant.  —  Finishes  the  “  His¬ 
tory  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella”  ......  85 

CHAPTER  YIH. 

Doubts  about  publishing  the  “  History  of  Ferdinand  and  Isa¬ 
bella.”  —  Four  Copies  printed  as  it  was  written.  —  Opinions 
of  Friends.  —  The  Author’s  own  Opinion  of  his  Work.  —  Pub¬ 
lishes  it.  —  His  Letters  about  it.  —  Its  Success.  —  Its  Publi¬ 
cation  in  London.  —  Reviews  of  it  in  the  United  States  and 
in  Europe  .  .  .........  9# 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  Author’s  Feelings  on  the  Success  of  “Ferdinand  and  Isa¬ 
bella.”  —  Illness  of  his  Mother,  and  her  Recovery.  —  Opin¬ 
ions  in  Europe  concerning  iiis  History  .  ...  10* 


CONTENTS. 


is 

CHAPTER  X. 

Mr.  Prescott’s  Character  at  this  Period. — Effect  of  his  In- 
firmity  of  Sight  in  forming  it.  —  Noctograph.  —  Distribu¬ 
tion  of  his  Day.  —  Contrivances  for  regulating  the  Light 
in  his  Boom.  —  Premature  Decay  of  Sight.  —  Exact  System 
of  Exkrci8b  and  Life  generally.  —  Firm  Will  in  carrying 
IT  OUT .  115 


CHAPTER  XL 

Mr.  Prescott’s  Social  Character.  —  Remarks  on  it  by  Mr.Gae- 
DINER  AND  Mfi.  PARSONS  .  . .  .  138 


CHAPTER  XH. 

Mr.  Prescott’s  Industry  and  general  Character  based  oh 
Principle  and  on  Self-Sacrifice.  —  Temptations.  —  Expedi¬ 
ents  TO  OVERCOME  THEM. —  EXPERIMENTS.  —  NOTES  OF  WHAT  IS 
READ  TO  HIM.  —  COMPOSES  WITHOUT  WRITING.  —  SEVERE  DISCI¬ 
PLINE  of  his  Moral  and  Religious  Character.  —  Dislikes  to 
have  his  Habits  interfered  with.  —  Never  shows  Constraint. 

—  Freedom  of  Manner  in  his  Family  and  in  Society. —  His 
Influence  on  Others.  —  His  Charity  to  the  Poor.  —  Instance 
of  it  . 188 


CHAPTER  XUI. 

Period  immediately  after  the  Publication  of  “  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella.”  —  Thinks  of  writing  a  Life  of  MoliRre;  but 
prefers  Spanish  Subjects.  —  Reviews.  —  Inquires  again  into 
the  Truth  of  Christianity. — “Conquest  of  Mexico.”  —  Books 
and  Manuscripts  obtained  for  it.  —  Humboldt.  —  Indolence. 

—  Correspondence  with  Washington  Irving  ....  151 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

His  Correspondence  becomes  Important. —  Letter  to  Irving. — 
Letters  from  Sismondi,  Thierry,  Tytleb,  and  Rogers.  —  Let¬ 
ter  to  Gayangos.  —  Memoranda.  —  Letters  to  Gayangos,  and 
others.  —  Letters  from  Ford  and  Tytler  .  .  .  .164 


X 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Materials  for  the  “  Conquest  of  Mexico.”  —  Imperfect  Indus¬ 
try.  —  Improved  State  of  the  Eye.  —  Begins  to  write.  — 
Difficulties.  —  Thoroughness.  —  Interruptions.  —  Lord  Mor¬ 
peth.  —  Visits  to  New  York  and  Lebanon  Springs.  —  “  Con¬ 
quest  of  Mexico”  finished. —  Sale  of  Right  to  publish. — 
Illness  of  his  Father.  —  Partial  Recovery.  —  “  Conquest  of 
Mexico  ”  published.  —  Its  Success.  —  Reviews  of  it.  —  Let¬ 
ters  to  Mr.  Lyell  and  Don  Pascual  de  Gayangos.  —  From 
Mr.  Gallatin.  —  To  Lord  Morpeth  and  to  Gayangos.  —  From 
Mr.  Hallam  and  Mr.  Everett.  —  Memoranda.  —  Letter  from 
Lord  Morpeth.  —  Letters  to  Dean  Milman  and  Mr.  J.  C.  Ham¬ 
ilton. —  Letters  from  Mr.  Tytler  and  Dean  Milman  .  .  181 

CHAPTER  XVL 

Mr.  Prescott’s  Style.  —  Determines  to  have  one  of  his  own.  - 

How  HE  OBTAINED  IT.  —  DISCUSSIONS  IN  REVIEWS  ABOUT  IT.  —  Mb. 

Ford.  —  Writes  more  and  more  freely.  —  Naturalness.  —  His 
Style  made  attractive  by  Causes  connected  with  ms  In¬ 
firmity  of  Sight.  —  Its  final  Character . 308 

CHAPTER  XVH. 

Bits  for  his  Portrait  and  Bust.  —  Visit  to  New  York.  —  Miscel¬ 
laneous  Reading. —  Materials  for  the  “  Conquest  of  Peru.” 

—  Begins  to  write.  —  Death  of  his  Father.  —  Its  Effect  on 
him.  —  Resumes  Work.  —  Letter  from  Humboldt.  —  Election 
into  the  French  Institute,  and  into  the  Royal  Society  of 
Berlin . 318 


CHAPTER  XVffl. 

Publication  of  a  Volume  of  Miscellanies. — Italian  Litera¬ 
ture.  —  Controversy  with  Daponte.  —  Charles  Brockden 
Brown.  —  Blind  Asylum.  —  Moliere.  —  Cervantes.  —  Scott.  — 
Irving.  —  Bancroft.  —  Madame  Calderon.  —  History  of  Span¬ 
ish  Literature.  —  Opinions  of  Review- writing  .  .  .  280 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

His  Domestic  Relations.  —  “Conquest  of  Peru.”  —  Pepperell. 

—  Letters.  —  Removal  in  Boston.  —  Difficulties.  —  Fiftieth 
Birthday.  —  Publishes  the  “  Conquest  of  Peru.”  —  Doubts. 

—  Success.  —  Memoranda.  —  “  Edinburgh  Review.”  —  Life  at 
Pepperell.  —  Letter  from  Miss  Edgeworth  ....  240 


CONTENTS. 


xi 


CHATTER  XX 

Mr.  Motley.  —  Hesitation  about  beginning  the  History  or 
Philip  the  Second.  —  State  op  his  Sight  bad.  —  Preparations. 

—  Doubts  about  taking  the  whole  Subject.  —  Memoir  of 
Pickering.  —  Early  Intimations  of  a  Life  of  Philip  the 
Second.  —  Collection  of  Materials  for  it.  —  Difficulty  of 
getting  them.  —  Greatly  assisted  by  Don  Pascual  de  Ga- 
yangos.  —  Materials  at  last  ample.  —  Prints  for  his  own 
Use  a  Portion  of  Ranke’s  Spanish  Empire  ....  261 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

General  Scott’s  Conquest  of  Mexico.  —  Summer  at  Pepperell 
—  Difficulties  and  Doubts  about  “Philip  the  Second.”  — 
Memoirs  or  regular  History.  —  Anxiety  about  his  Hearing. 

— Journey  for  Health.  —  Not  sufficient. —  Project  for  vis¬ 
iting  England.  —  Resolves  to  go.  —  Voyage  and  Arrival. — 
London .  ....  272 


CHAPTER  XXn. 

Leaves  London.  —  Hasty  Visit  to  Paris,  Brussels,  and  Antwerp. 

—  Letters.  —  Return  to  London.  —  Visits  in  the  Country.  — 
Letters.  —  End  of  his  Visit  to  England.  —  English  Charac¬ 
ter  and  Society . 80C 


CHAPTER  XXin. 

Voyage  Home.— Letters  to  Friends  in  England.  —  Begins  to 
work  again.  —  Pepperell.  —  “  Philip  the  Second.”  —  Corre¬ 
spondence  . 821 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Political  Opinions.  —  Correspondence  with  Mb.  Bancroft,  Mr. 
Everett,  and  Mr.  Sumner.  —  Conversation  on  Political  Sub¬ 
jects  . . 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


Death  os'  Mr.  Prescott’s  Mother.  —  Progress  with  “  Philip 
'•’he  Second.”  —  Correspondence . 35a 


CONTENTS. 


XU 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Rheumatism  at  Nahant.  —  Boston  Homes  successively  occupied 
by  Mr.  Prescott  in  Tremont  Street,  Summer  Street,  Bedford 
Street,  and  Beacon  Street.  —  Patriarchal  Mode  of  Life  at 
Pepperell.  —  Life  at  Nahant  and  at  Lynn  .  .  .  864 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

First  Summer  at  Lynn.  —  Work  on  “  Philip  the  Second.”  — 
Memoranda  about  it.  —  Prints  the  first  two  Volumes.  — 


Their  Success.  —  Addition  to  Robertson’s  “  Charles  the 
Fifth.” — Memoir  of  Mr.  Abbott  Lawrence.  —  Goes  on  with 
“Philip  the  Second.” — Illness.  —  Dinner  at  Mr.  Gardiner’s. 

—  Correspondence . 876 


CHAPTER  XXVIIL 

First  Attack  of  Apoplexy.  —  Yields  readily.  —  Clearness  or 
Mind. —  Composure.  —  Infirmities.  —  Gradual  Improvement. 

—  Occupations.  —  Prints  the  third  Volume  of  “Philip  the 
Second.”  —  Summer  at  Lynn  and  Pepperell.  —  Notes  to  the 
“  Conquest  of  Mexico.”  —  Return  to  Boston.  —  Desire  for 
active  Literary  Labor.  —  Ague.  —  Correspondence  .  896 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Anxiety  to  return  to  serious  Work.  —  Pleasant  Forenoon.  — 
Sudden  Attack  of  Apoplexy.  —  Death.  —  His  Wishes  re¬ 
specting  his  Remains.  —  Funeral.  —  Expressions  of  Sorrow 
on  both  Sides  of  the  Atlantic  .......  413 


APPENDIX. 


A.  —  The  Prescott  Family . 419 

B.  —  The  Crossed  Swords . 430 

C.  —  Extracts  from  a  Letter  addressed  by  Mr.  Edmund  B. 

Otis,  formerly  Me.  Prescott’s  Secretary,  to  Mr. 
Ticknor . 433 

D.  —  Literary  Honors . 436 

E.  —  Translations  of  Mr.  Prescott’s  Histories  .  .  .  .438 

F.  —  Conversation  of  Mr.  Prescott  shortly  before  his  Death  441 

G.  —  On  ins  Death . 444 


INDEX  . 


447 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

William  H.  Prescott  ....  Frontispiece. 

House  at  Salem  where  Prescott  was  born  ...  2 

George  Bancroft  .......  93 

Washington  Irving  .  .  .  .  .  .  157 

Macaulay  .........  294 

William  H.  Prescott  .......  372 


Life. 


THE  LIFE 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


CHAPTER  I. 


1796-1811. 


Birth  and  Parentage. — Early  Training.  —  Removal  to  Boston.— 
Dr.  Gardiner’s  School.  —  Life  at  Home. — Love  of  Books.  —  Dif¬ 
ficulty  of  obtaining  them. — Boston  Athenasum. —  William  S. 
Shaw.  —  Favorite  Books.  —  Studies.  —  Early  Friendship.  —  Amuse¬ 
ments.  —  Enters  College. 


ILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT  was  bom  in 


Y  y  Salem,  New  England,  on  the  fourth  day  of  May, 
seventeen  hundred  and  ninety-six.1 

His  father,  then  thirty-four  years  old,  —  a  person  of  remark¬ 
able  manly  beauty,  and  great  dignity  and  gentleness  of  char¬ 
acter,  —  was  already  in  the  flush  of  his  early  success  at  the 
bar,  where  he  subsequently  rose  to  much  eminence  and  honor. 
His  mother,  five  years  younger,  was  a  woman  of  great  energy, 
who  seemed  to  have  been  bom  to  do  good,  and  who  had  from 
her  youth  those  unfailing  spirits  which  belong  to  the  original 
temperament  of  the  very  few  who  have  the  happiness  to  pos¬ 
sess  them,  and  which,  in  her  case,  were  controlled  by  a  good 
sense  and  by  religious  convictions,  that  made  her  presence  like 
a  benediction  in  the  scenes  of  sorrow  and  suffering,  which, 
during  her  long  life,  it  was  her  chosen  vocation  to  frequent. 
They  had  been  married  between  two  and  three  years  when 
William  was  bom  to  them,  inheriting  not  a  few  of  the  promi¬ 
nent  characteristics  of  each.  He  was  their  second  child ;  the 
first,  also  a  son,  having  died  in  very  early  infancy. 

1  For  an  account  of  the  Prescott  Family,  see  Appendix  (A). 


1 


2 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


The  family  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Prescott  was  always  a  happy 
one,  —  respected  and  loved  by  those  who  came  within  the  reach 
of  its  influence.  Their  pleasant,  hospitable  house  in  Salem  is 
no  longer  standing ;  but  the  spot  it  occupied  is  well  remem¬ 
bered,  and  is  pointed  out  to  strangers  with  pride,  as  the  one 
where  the  future  historian  was  born.  Its  site  is  now  that  of 
“  Plummer  Hall  ” ;  —  a  building  erected  for  literary  and  scien¬ 
tific  purposes,  from  funds  bequeathed  by  the  lady  whose  name 
it  bears,  and  who  was  long  a  friend  of  the  Prescott  family.2 

William’s  earliest  education  was  naturally  in  the  hands  of 
his  affectionate  and  active  mother,  his  great  obligations  to 
whom  lie  always  loved  to  acknowledge,  and  from  whom,  with 
slight  exceptions,  it  was  his  happiness  never  to  be  separated  so 
long  as  they  both  lived.  Pie  felt,  to  the  last,  that  her  influence 
upon  him  had  been  one  of  the  chief  blessings  of  his  life.  On 
the  afternoon  of  her  death  he  spoke  of  it  to  me,  as  a  guiding 
impulse  for  which  he  could  not  be  too  grateful. 

But,  like  the  children  of  most  of  the  persons  who  constituted 
the  society  in  Salem  to  which  his  family  belonged,  he  was  sent 
to  a  school  for  the  very  young,  kept  by  Miss  Meliitable  Higgin- 
son,  a  true  gentlewoman,  descended  from  the  venerable  Francis 
Higginson,  who  emigrated  to  Salem  in  1629,  when  there  were 
only  seven  bouses  on  the  spot  now  covered  by  the  whole  city, 
and  who,  from  his  scholarship,  eloquence,  and  piety,  has  some¬ 
times  been  called  the  founder  of  the  churches  of  New  England. 
Miss  Higginson  understood,  with  an  instinct  for  which  experi¬ 
ence  affords  no  sufficient  substitute,  what  belongs  to  childhood, 
and  how  best  to  direct  and  mould  its  opening  faculties.  It  was 
her  wont  to  call  herself,  not  the  school  mistress,  but  the  school 
mother ,  of  her  little  flock ;  and  a  system  of  discipline  which 
might  be  summed  up  in  such  a  phrase  could  hardly  fail  of 
being  effectual  for  good.  Certainly  it  succeeded  to  a  remark- 

’  Only  a  year  before  his  death,  the  historian  was  invited  to  be  present  ai 
the  dedication  of  “  Plummer  Hall.”  He  was  not  able  to  attend ;  but,  in 
reply  to  the  invitation,  he  said:  “  I  need  not  assure  you  that  I  take  a  sincere 
interest  in  the  ceremonies  of  the  day,  and  I  have  a  particular  interest  in  the 
spot  which  is  to  be  covered  by  the  new  edifice,  from  its  having  been  that  on 
which  I  first  saw  the  light.  It  is  a  pleasant  thought  to  me,  that,  through 
the  enlightened  liberality  of  my  deceased  friend,  Miss  Plummer,  it  is  now 
to  be  consecrated  to  so  noble  a  purpose.” 


SCHOOL  DAYS. 


3 


able  degree  with  her  many  pupils,  during  the  half-century  in 
which  she  devoted  herself  with  truth  and  love  to  her  calling. 
Of  her  more  favored  children,  William  was  one. 

From  the  tender  and  faithful  hands  of  Miss  Higginson,  he 
passed  to  the  school  of  Mr.  Jacob  Newman  Knapp,  long  known 
in  Salem  as  “  Master  Knapp,”  —  a  person  who,  as  the  best 
teacher  to  be  obtained,  had  been  procured  by  Mr.  Prescott  and 
a  few  of  his  more  intimate  friends,  all  of  whom  were  anxious, 
as  he  was,  to  spare  neither  pains  nor  expense  in  the  education 
of  their  children.  Under  Mr.  Knapp’s  care  William  was  placed 
at  New- Year,  1803,  when  he  was  less  than  seven  years  old  ; 
and  he  continued  there  until  the  midsummer  of  1808,  when  his 
father  removed  to  Boston. 

The  recollections  of  him  during  these  four  or  five  years  are 
distinct  in  the  minds  of  his  teacher,  who  still  survives  (1862) 
at  a  venerable  old  age,  and  of  a  few  schoolmates,  now  no  longer 
young.  He  was  a  bright,  merry  boy,  with  an  inquisitive  mind, 
quick  perceptions,  and  a  ready,  retentive  memory.  His  lessons 
were  generally  well  learned  ;  but  he  loved  play  better  than 
books,  and  was  too  busy  with  other  thoughts  than  those  that 
belonged  to  the  school-room  to  become  one  of  Master  Knapp’s 
best  pupils.  He  was,  though  large  for  his  years,  not  very  vig¬ 
orous  in  his  person.  He  never  fancied  rude  or  athletic  sports, 
but  amused  himself  with  such  boys  of  his  own  age  as  preferred 
games  requiring  no  great  physical  strength ;  or  else  he  made 
himself  happy  at  home  with  such  light  reading  as  is  most  at¬ 
tractive  to  all  children,  and  especially  to  those  whose  opening 
tastes  and  tendencies  are  quiet,  if  not  intellectual.  In  the  latter 
part  of  his  life  he  used  to  say,  that  he  recollected  no  period  of 
his  childhood  when  he  did  not  love  books  ;  adding,  that  often, 
when  he  was  a  very  little  boy,  he  was  so  excited  by  stories 
appealing  strongly  to  his  imagination,  that,  when  his  mother 
left  the  room,  he  used  to  take  hold  of  her  gown,  and  follow  her 
as  she  moved  about  the  house,  rather  than  be  left  alone.  But 
in  school  he  did  not  love  work,  and  made  no  remarkable  pro 
gress  in  his  studies. 

Neither  was  he  so  universally  liked  by  the  boys  "with  whom 
he  was  associated  in  Salem,  as  he  was  afterwards  by  the  boys 
in  other  schools.  He  had  indeed  his  favorites,  to  whom  he 


4 


WILLIAM  IIICKLING  TRESCOTT. 


was  much  attached  and  who  were  much  attached  to  him,  and 
he  never  faltered  in  his  kindness  to  them  subsequently,  how¬ 
ever  humble  or  unfortunate  their  condition  became  ;  but  at 
home  he  had  been  encouraged  to  speak  his  mind  with  a  bold¬ 
ness  that  was  sometimes  rude  ;  partly  from  parental  indul¬ 
gence,  and  partly  as  a  means  of  detecting  easily  any  tendencies 
in  his  character  that  his  conscientious  father  might  think  it 
needful  to  restrain.  The  consequence  was,  that  a  similar  habit 
of  very  free  speaking  at  school,  joined  to  his  great  natural 
vivacity  and  excessive  animal  spirits,  made  him  more  confident 
in  the  expression  of  his  opinions  and  feelings  than  was  agree¬ 
able,  and  prevented  him  from  becoming  a  favorite  with  a  por¬ 
tion  of  his  schoolmates.  It  laid,  however,  I  doubt  not,  the 
foundation  for  that  attractive  simplicity  and  openness  which 
constituted  prominent  traits  in  his  character  through  life. 

His  conscience  was  sensitive  and  tender  from  the  first,  and 
never  ceased  to  be  so.  A  sermon  to  children  produced  a  strik¬ 
ing  effect  upon  him  when  he  was  still  a  child.  It  was  a  very 
simple,  direct  one,  by  Dr.  Channing ;  and  William’s  mother 
told  him  to  read  it  to  her  one  evening  when  his  conduct  had 
required  some  slight  censure,  and  she  thought  this  the  best 
way  to  administer  it.  He  obeyed  her  reluctantly.  But  soon 
his  lips  began  to  quiver,  and  his  voice  to  choke.  He  stopped, 
and  with  tears  said,  “  Mother,  if  I  am  ever  a  bad  boy  again, 
won’t  you  set  me  to  reading  that  sermon  ?  ” 

His  temperament  was  very  gay,  like  his  mother’s,  and  his 
eager  and  sometimes  turbulent  spirits  led  him  into  faults  of 
conduct  oftener,  perhaps,  than  anything  else.  Like  most  school¬ 
boys,  he  was  fond  of  practical  jokes,  and  ventured  them,  not 
only  in  a  spirit  of  idle  mischief,  but  even  rudely.  Once  he 
badly  frightened  a  servant-girl  in  the  family,  by  springing  un¬ 
expectedly  upon  lier  from  behind  a  door.  But  his  father,  busy 
and  anxious  as  he  was  with  the  interests  of  others,  and  occu¬ 
pying  himself  less  with  the  material  concerns  and  affairs  of  his 
household  than  almost  any  person  I  ever  knew,  had  yet  an  eye 
of  unceasing  vigilance  for  whatever  related  to  the  training  of 
his  children,  and  did  not  suffer  even  a  fault  so  slight  to  pass 
without  rebuke.  After  this,  although  William  was  always  a 
boy  full  of  life  and  mischief,  he  gave  no  more  trouble  by  such 
rudeness  at  home. 


HOME  INFLUENCES. 


5 


No  doubt,  therefore,  his  early  education,  and  the  circum¬ 
stances  most  nearly  connected  with  it,  were,  on  the  whole, 
favorable  to  the  formation  of  a  character  suited  to  the  position 
in  the  world  that  he  was  likely  to  occupy ;  - —  a  character,  I 
mean,  that  would  not  easily  yield  to  the  temptations  of  pros¬ 
perity,  nor  be  easily  broken  down  by  adverse  fortune,  if  such 
fortune  should  come  upon  it.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  condition  of 
things  that  directly  tended  to  develop  those  manly  qualities 
which  in  our  New-England  society  have  always  most  surely 
contributed  to  progress  and  success. 

Nor  was  there  anything  in  the  circle  with  which  his  family 
was  most  connected  to  counteract  these  influences.  Life  in 
those  days  was  a  very  simple  tiling  in  Salem,  compared  with 
what  it  is  now.  It  was  the  period  when  Mr.  Gray  and  Mr. 
Peabody,  the  Pickmans  and  the  Derbys,  were  too  busy  with 
their  widely  extended  commerce  to  think  often  of  anything 
else ;  when  Mr.  Justice  Putnam  was  a  young  lawyer  struggling 
up  to  eminence  ;  when  Mr.  Story,  afterwards  the  distinguished 
jurist  and  judge,  was  only  beginning  to  be  heard  of ;  and  when 
the  mathematical  genius  of  Dr.  Bowditch,  and  the  classical 
studies  of  Mr.  Pickering,  which  were  destined  later  to  have  so 
wide  an  effect  on  our  community,  were  hardly  known  beyond 
the  limits  of  their  personal  acquaintance. 

In  those  active,  earnest  days,  the  modest  luxury  of  hackney- 
coaches  and  hired  waiters  had  not  come  to  be  deemed  needful 
in  Salem,  even  among  those  who  were  already  prosperous  and 
rich.  When,  therefore,  Mrs.  Prescott  had  invited  friends  to 
dine,  —  a  form  of  social  intercourse  which  she  and  her  husband 
always  liked,  and  which  they  practised  more  freely  than  most 
persons  then  did,  — -  if  the  weather  proved  unfavorable,  she 
sent  her  own  chaise  to  bring  her  lady  guests  to  her  house,  and 
carried  them  safely  home  in  the  same  way  when  the  hospitable 
evening  was  ended.  Or,  if  the  company  were  larger  than  her 
usual  arrangements  would  permit  to  be  well  served,  she  bor¬ 
rowed  the  servants  of- her  friends,  and  lent  her  own  in  return 
But  the  days  of  such  unpretending  simplicity  are  gone  by,  and 
a  tasteful  luxury  has  naturally  and  gracefully  taken  its  place. 
They  were  days,  however,  on  which  my  friend  always  looked 
back  with  satisfaction,  and  I  doubt  not,  nor  did  he  doubt,  that 


6 


WILLIAM  lUCKLING  PRESCOTT 


it  was  well  for  him  that  his  character  received  something  of  its 
early  direction  under  their  influence.  He  was  always  grateful 
that  his  first  years  were  passed  neither  in  a  luxurious  home  nor 
in  a  luxurious  state  of  society.8 

Mr.  Prescott  the  elder  removed  with  his  family  to  Boston 
m  the  summer  of  1808,  and  established  himself  in  a  house  on 
Tremont  Street.  But  although  he  had  come  to  a  larger  town, 
and  one  where  those  of  his  own  condition  indulged  in  some¬ 
what  more  free  habits  of  expense,  the  manner  of  life  that  he 
preferred  and  followed  in  his  new  home  was  not  different  from 
the  one  to  which  he  had  been  accustomed  in  Salem.  It  was  a 
life  of  cordial,  open  hospitality,  but  without  show  or  pretension 
of  any  sort.  And  so  it  continued  to  the  last. 

The  promising  son  was  sent  in  the  early  autumn  to  the  best 
classical  school  then  known  in  New  England  ;  for  his  father, 
bred  at  Dummer  Academy  by  “  Master  Moody,”  who  in  his 
time  was  without  an  equal  among  us  as  a  teacher  of  Latin 
and  Greek,  always  valued  such  training  more  than  any  other. 
And  it  was  fortunate  for  William  that  he  did  so  ;  for  his  early 
classical  discipline  was  undoubtedly  a  chief  element  in  his  sub¬ 
sequent  success. 

The  school  to  which  he  was  sent  —  if  school  it  could  prop¬ 
erly  be  called  —  was  one  kept  with  few  of  the  attributes  of 
such  an  institution,  but  in  its  true  spirit,  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Gar¬ 
diner,4  Rector  of  Trinity  Church,  Boston.  Dr.  Gardiner  was 

8  For  this  sketch  of  society  as  it  existed  in  Salem  at  the  end  of  the  last 
century  I  am  indebted  to  the  venerable  Mrs.  Putnam,  widow  of  Mr.  Justice 
Putnam,  whose  family,  early  connected  with  that  of  the  elder  Mr.  Prescott 
by  bonds  of  friendship  and  affection,  has,  in  the  third  generation,  been  yet 
more  intimately  and  happily  united  to  it  by  the  marriage  of  the  eldest  son 
of  the  historian  with  a  granddaughter  of  the  jurist. 

4  Dr.  Gardiner  had  earlier  kept  a  regular  school  in  Boston,  with  no  small 
success;  but,  at  the  time  referred  to,  he  received  in  his  own  library,  with 
little  form,  about  a  dozen  youths,  —  some  who  were  to  be  prepared  for  col¬ 
lege,  and  some  who,  having  been  already  graduated,  sought,  by  his  assistance, 
to  increase  their  knowledge  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  classics.  It  was  excel¬ 
lent,  direct,  personal  teaching;  —  the  more  effective  because  the  nuniber  of 
pupils  was  so  small.  It  was,  too,  of  a  sort  peculiarly  adapted  to  make  an 
impression  on  a  mind  and  temperament  like  young  Prescott’s.  Indeed,  it  be¬ 
came  the  foundation  of  an  attachment  between  him  and  his  instructor,  which 
was  severed  only  by  death,  and  of  which  a  touching  proof  was  afforded  dur¬ 
ing  the  last,  long-protracted  illness  of  Dr.  Gardiner,  who,  as  his  infirmities 
increased,  directed  his  servant  to  admit  nobody,  beyond  the  limits  of  his 


DB.  GARDINER’S  SCHOOL. 


7 

a  good  scholar,  bred  in  England  under  Dr.  Parr,  who,  some 
years  afterwards,  at  Hatton,  spoke  of  him  to  me  with  much 
regard  and  respect.  But,  besides  his  scholarship,  Dr.  Gardiner 
was  a  generous,  warm-hearted  man.  who  took  a  sincere  interest 
in  his  pupils,  and  sympathized  with  them  in  their  pursuits  to  a 
degree  which,  however  desirable,  is  very  rare.  A  great  deal  of 
his  teaching  was  oral ;  some  of  it,  no  doubt,  traditional,  and 
brought  from  his  English  school ;  all  of  it  was  excellent.  For, 
although  recitations  of  careful  exactness  were  required,  and 
punishments  not  slight  inflicted  for  negligence  and  breaches  of 
discipline,  still  much  knowledge  was  communicated  by  an  easy 
conversational  commentary,  the  best  part  of  which  could  not 
readily  have  been  found  in  books,  while  the  whole  of  it  gave 
a  life  and  interest  to  the  lessons  that  could  have  been,  given  by 
nothing  else. 

It  was  in  this  school,  as  soon  as  he  became  a  member  of  it, 
that  I  first  knew  William,  as  a  bright  boy  a  little  more  than 
twelve  years  old.  I  had  then  been  under  Dr.  Gardiner’s  in¬ 
struction  some  months,  not  as  a  regular  member  of  any  class, 
but  at  private  hours,  with  one  or  two  others,  to  obtain  a  knowl¬ 
edge  of  the  higher  Greek  and  Latin  classics,  not  elsewhere  to 
be  had  among  us.  Very  soon  the  young  stranger  was  brought 
by  his  rapid  advancement  to  recite  with  us,  and  before  long  we 
two  were  left  to  pursue  a  part  of  our  studies  quite  by  ourselves 
From  this  time,  of  course,  I  knew  him  well,  and,  becoming 
acquainted  in  his  father’s  family,  saw  him  not  only  daily  at 
school,  but  often  at  home.  It  was  a  most  agreeable,  cheerful 
house,  where  the  manners  were  so  frank  and  sincere,  that  the 
son’s  position  in  it  was  easily  understood.  He  was  evidently 
loved  —  much  loved  —  of  all ;  his  mother  showing  her  fond¬ 
ness  without  an  attempt  at  disguise,  —  his  father  not  without 

family  connections,  except  Mr.  Prescott.  It  is  needless  to  add,  that,  after 
this,  his  old  pupil  was  almost  daily  at  his  door.  Nor  did  he  ever  afterwards 
forget  his  early  kind  teacher.  Dr.  Gardiner  died  in  1830,  in  England,  where 
he  had  gone  with  the  hope  of  recovery ;  and  on  receiving  the  intelligence  of 
his  death,  Mr.  Prescott  published,  in  one  of  our  newspapers,  an  interesting 
obituary  of  him.  Subsequently,  too,  in  1848,  he  wrote  to  Dr.  Sprague,  in 
Albany,  an  affectionate  letter  (to  be  found  in  that  gentleman’s  “  Annals  of 
the  American  Pulpit,”  Vol.  V.  p.  365,  1869)  on  Dr.  Gardiner’s  character,  and 
in  the  very  last  year  of  his  life  he  was  occupied  ivith  fresh  interest  about  its 
publication. 


8 


WILLIAM  HICKLLNG  PRESCOTT. 


anxiety  concerning  his  son’s  spirits  and  the  peculiar  temptations 
of  his  age  and  position.  Probably  he  was  too  much  indulged 
Certainly,  in  his  fine,  open  nature  there  were  great  inducements 
to  this  parental  infirmity ;  and  a  spirit  of  boyish  mischief  in 
his  relations  with  those  of  his  own  age,  and  a  certain  degree  of 
presumption  in  his  manners  toward  those  who  were  older,  were 
not  wanting  to  justify  the  suspicion.  That  he  was  much  trusted 
to  himself  there  was  no  doubt. 

But  he  loved  books  of  the  lighter  sort,  and  was  kept  by  Ids 
taste  for  them  from  many  irregular  indulgences.  Books,  how¬ 
ever,  were  by  no  means  so  accessible  in  those  days  as  they  are 
now.  F ew,  comparatively,  were  published  in  the  United  States, 
and,  as  it  was  the  dreary  period  of  the  commercial  restrictions 
that  preceded  the  war  of  1812  with  England,  still  fewer  were 
imported.  Even  good  school-books  were  not  easily  obtained. 
A  copy  of  Euripides  in  the  original  could  not  be  bought  at  any 
bookseller’s  shop  in  New  England,  and  was  with  difficulty 
borrowed.  A  German  instructor,  or  means  for  learning  the 
German  language,  were  not  to  be  had  either  in  Boston  or 
Cambridge.  The  best  publications  that  appeared  in  Great 
Britain  came  to  us  slowly,  and  were  seldom  reprinted.  New 
books  from  the  Continent  hardly  reached  us  at  all.  Men  felt 
poor  and  anxious  in  those  dark  days,  and  literary  indulgences, 
which  have  now  become  almost  as  necessary  to  us  as  our  daily 
food,  were  luxuries  enjoyed  by  few. 

There  was,  however,  a  respectable,  but  very  miscellaneous 
collection  of  books  just  beginning  to  be  made  by  the  proprie¬ 
tors  of  the  Boston  Athenasum ;  an  institution  imitated  chiefly 
from  the  Athenasum  of  Liverpool,  and  established  in  an  unpre¬ 
tending  building  not  far  from  the  house  of  the  Prescott  family 
in  Tremont  Street.  Its  real  founder  was  Mr.  William  S.  Shaw, 
who,  by  a  sort  of  common  consent,  exercised  over  it  a  control 
all  but  unlimited,  acting  for  many  years  gratuitously  as  its 
librarian.  He  was  a  near  connection  of  the  two  Presidents 
Adams,  the  first  of  whom  he  had  served  as  private  secretary 
during  his  administration  of  the  government ;  and  in  conse- 
quence  of  this  relationship,  when  Mr.  John  Quincy  Adams  was 
sent  as  Minister  of  the  United  States  to  Russia,  he  deposited 
his  library,  consisting  of  eight  or  ten  thousand  volumes,  in 


THE  BOSTON  ATHEN2EUM. 


9 


the  Athenaeum,  and  thus  maternally  increased  its  resources 
during  his  absence  abroad.  The  young  sons  of  its  proprietors 
nad  then,  by  the  rules  of  the  institution,  no  real  right  to  fre 
quent  its  rooms  ;  but  Mr.  Shaw,  with  all  his  passion  for  books, 
and  his  anxiety  to  keep  safely  and  strictly  those  instrusted 
to  him,  was  a  kind-hearted  man,  who  loved  bright  boys,  and 
often  gave  them  privileges  in  liis  Athenaeum  to  which  they 
had  no  regular  claim.  William  was  one  of  those  who  were 
most  favored,  and  who  most  gladly  availed  themselves  of  the 
opportunity  which  was  thus  given  them.  He  resorted  to 
the  Athenaeum,  and  to  the  part  of  it  containing  Mr.  Adams’s 
library,  as  few  boys  cared  to  do,  and  spent  many  of  his  play- 
hours  there  in  a  sort  of  idle  reading,  which  probably  did  little 
to  nourish  his  mind,  but  which,  as  he  afterwards  loved  to 
acknowledge,  had  a  decided  influence  in  forming  his  literary 
tendencies  and  tastes.5 

Of  course  such  reading  was  not  very  select.  He  chiefly  fan¬ 
cied  extravagant  romances  and  books  of  wild  adventure.  How 
completely  he  was  carried  away  by  the  “  Amadis  de  Gaula  ” 
in  Southey’s  translation  he  recorded  long  afterwards,  when  he 
looked  back  upon  his  boyish  admiration,  not  only  with  surprise, 
but  with  a  natural  regret  that  all  such  feelings  belonged  to  the 
remote  past.  The  age  of  chivalry,  he  said  sadly,  was  gone  by 
for  him.6 

But,  whatever  may  have  been  his  general  reading  at  this 
early  period,  he  certainly  did  not,  in  the  years  immediately 
preceding  his  college  life,  affect  careful  study,  or  serious  intel¬ 
lectual  cultivation  of  any  kind.  His  lessons  he  learned  easily, 
but  he  made  a  characteristic  distinction  between  such  as  were 
indispensable  for  his  admission  to  the  University,  and  such  as 
were  prescribed  merely  to  increase  his  classical  knowledge  and 
accomplishments.  He  was  always  careful  to  learn  the  first 
well,  but  equally  careful  to  do  no  more,  or  at  least  not  to  seem 
willing  to  do  it,  lest  yet  further  claims  should  be  made  upon 
him.  I  remember  well  his  cheerful  and  happy  recitations 
of  the  “  OEdipus  Tyrannus” ;  but  be  was  veiy  fretful  at  being 
required  to  read  the  more  difficult  “Prometheus  Vinctus”  of 

*  Letter  of  W.  H.  Gardiner,  Esq.  to  T.  G  Cary,  Esq.  MS. 

•  North  American  Review,  January,  1850. 


10 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


iEschylus,  because  it  was  not  a  part  of  tbe  course  of  study 
wbicb  all  must  pass  through.  Horace,  too,  of  which  we  read 
some  parts  together,  interested  and  excited  him  beyond  his 
years,  but  Juvenal  he  disliked,  and  Persius  he  could  not  be 
made  to  read  at  all.  He  was,  in  short,  neither  more  nor  less 
than  a  thoroughly  natural,  bright  boy,  who  loved  play  better 
than  work,  but  who  could  work  well  under  sufficient  induce¬ 
ments  and  penalties. 

During  the  whole  of  his  school  days  in  Boston,  although 
he  was  a  general  favorite  among  the  boys,  his  friend  and  Jidus 
Achates  was  a  son  of  his  teacher,  Dr.  Gardiner,  of  just  about 
his  own  age  ;  and,  if  not  naturally  of  a  more  staid  and  sober 
character,  kept  by  a  wise  parental  discipline  under  more  re¬ 
straint.  It  was  a  happy  intimacy,  and  one  that  was  never 
broken  or  disturbed.  Their  paths  in  life  diverged,  indeed, 
somewhat  later,  and  they  necessarily  saw  each  other  less  as 
they  became  engrossed  by  pursuits  so  different ;  —  the  one  as  a 
severe,  retired  student ;  the  other  as  an  active,  eminent  lawyer, 
much  too  busy  with  the  affairs  of  others  to  be  seen  often  out  of 
his  own  office  and  family.  But  their  attachment  always  rested 
on  the  old  foundation,  and  the  friend  of  his  boyhood  became 
in  time  Mr.  Prescott’s  chief  confidential  adviser  in  his  worldly 
affairs,  and  was  left  at  last  the  sole  executor  of  his  considerable 
estate. 

In  the  first  few  years  of  their  acquaintance  they  were  con¬ 
stantly  together.  Dr.  Gardiner  gave  instruction  only  in  Greek, 
Latin,  and  English.  The  two  boys,  therefore,  took  private  les¬ 
sons,  as  they  were  called,  of  other  teachers  in  arithmetic  and 
in  writing ;  but  made  small  progress  in  either.  They  played, 
too,  with  French,  Italian,  and  Spanish,  but  accomplished  little  ; 
for  they  cared  nothing  about  these  studies,  which  they  account¬ 
ed  superfluous,  and  which  they  pursued  only  to  please  their 
friends.  They  managed,  however,  always  to  have  the  same 
instructors,  and  so  were  hardly  separated  at  all.  They  learnt, 
indeed,  the  slight  and  easy  lessons  set  them,  but  were  careful 
to  do  no  more,  and  so  made  no  real  progress. 

Much  of  their  free  time  they  gave  to  amusements  not  alto¬ 
gether  idle,  but  certainly  not  tending  very  directly  to  intel¬ 
lectual  culture.  Some  of  them  were  such  as  might  have  been 


AMUSEMENTS. 


11 


readily  expected  from  their  age.  Thus,  after  frequenting  a  cir¬ 
cus,  they  imitated  what  they  had  seen,  until  their  performances 
were  brought  to  a  disastrous  conclusion  by  cruelly  scorching  a 
favorite  family  cat  that  was  compelled  to  play  a  part  in  them. 
At  another  time  they  fired  pistols  till  they  disturbed  the  quiet 
neighborhood,  and  came  near  killing  a  horse  in  the  Prescott 
stable.  This  was  all  natural  enough,  because  it  was  boyish, 
though  it  was  a  little  more  adventurous,  perhaps,  than  boys’ 
sports  commonly  are.  Of  the  same  sort,  too,  was  a  good  deal 
of  mischief  in  which  they  indulged  themselves,  with  little  harm 
to  anybody,  in  the  streets  as  they  went  to  their  school  exercises, 
especially  in  the  evening,  and  then  came  home  again,  looking 
all  the  graver  for  their  frolics.  But  two  of  their  amusements 
were  characteristic  and  peculiar,  and  were,  perhaps,  not  with 
out  influence  on  the  lives  of  each  of  them,  and  especially  on 
the  life  of  the  historian. 

They  devised  games  of  battles  of  all  sorts,  such  as  they  had 
found  in  their  school-books,  among  the  Greeks  and  Romans, 
or  such  as  filled  the  newspapers  of  the  time  during  the  contest 
between  the  English  and  the  French  in  the  Spanish  Peninsula ; 
carrying  them  out  by  an  apparatus  more  than  commonly  in¬ 
genious  for  boys  of  their  age.  At  first,  it  was  merely  bits  of 
paper,  arranged  so  as  to  indicate  the  different  arms  and  com¬ 
manders  of  the  different  squadrons  ;  which  were  then  thrown 
into  heaps,  and  cut  up  at  random  with  shears  as  ruthless  as 
those  of  the  Fates ;  quite  severing  many  of  the  imaginary 
combatants  so  as  to  leave  no  hope  of  life,  and  curtailing  others 
of  their  fair  proportions  in  a  way  to  indicate  wounds  more  or 
less  dangerous.  But  this  did  not  last  long.  Soon  they  came 
to  more  personal  and  soldier-like  encounters ;  dressing  them¬ 
selves  up  in  portions  of  old  armor  which  they  found  among 
the  curiosities  of  the  Athenaeum,  and  which,  I  fear,  they  had 
little  right  to  use  as  they  did,  albeit  their  value  for  any  purpose 
was  small  indeed.  What  was  peculiar  about  these  amusements 
was,  that  there  was  always  an  idea  of  a  contest  in  them, — 
generally  of  a  battle,  —  whether  in  the  plains  of  Latium  with 
.ZEneas,  or  on  Bunker  Hill  under  William’s  grandfather,  or 
in  the  fanciful  combats  of  knights-errant  in  the  “  Amadis  de 
Gaula  ” ;  and  Prescott  apparently  cared  more  about  them  oi 
this  account  than  on  any  other. 


vz 


WILLIAM  niCKLING  PRESCOTT. 


The  other  especial  amusement  of  the  two  friends  was  that 
of  alternately  telling  stories  invented  as  they  went  along.  It 
was  oftener  their  street-talk  than  anything  else  ;  and,  if  the 
thread  of  the  fiction  in  hand  were  broken  otf,  by  arriving  at 
school  or  in  any  other  way,  they  resumed  it  as  soon  as  the 
interruption  ceased,  and  so  continued  until  the  whole  was  fin¬ 
ished  ;  each  improvising  a  complete  series  of  adventures  for 
the  entertainment  of  the  other  and  of  nobody  else.  Prescott’s 
inventions  were  generally  of  the  wildest ;  for  his  imagination 
was  lively,  and  his  head  was  full  of  the  romances  that  pre¬ 
vailed  in  our  circulating  libraries  before  Scott’3  time.  But 
they  both  etijoyed  this  exercise  of  their  faculties  heartily,  and 
each  thought  the  other’s  stories  admirable.  The  historian 
always  remembered  these  favorite  amusements  of  his  boyish 
days  with  satisfaction ;  and,  only  two  or  three  years  before 
his  death,  when  he  had  one  of  his  grandchildren  on  his  knee, 
and  was  gratifying  the  boy’s  demand  for  a  fairy  tale,  he  cried 
out,  as  Mr.  Gardiner  entered  the  room :  “  Ah,  there ’s  the 
man  that  could  tell  you  stories.  You  know,  William,”  he 
continued,  addressing  his  friend,  “  I  never  had  any  inventive 
faculty  in  my  life  ;  all  I  have  done  in  the  way  of  story-telling, 
in  my  later  years,  has  been  by  diligent  hard  work.”  Such, 
near  the  close  of  his  life,  was  his  modest  estimate  of  his  own 
brilliant  powers  and  performances. 

How  much  these  amusements  may  have  influenced  the  char¬ 
acter  of  the  narrator  of  the  Conquest  of  Mexico,  it  is  not  pos¬ 
sible  to  determine.  Probably  not  much.  But  one  thing  is 
certain.  They  were  not  amusements  common  with  boys  of 
his  age  ;  and  in  his  subsequent  career  his  power  of  describing 
battles,  and  his  power  of  relating  a  succession  of  adventures, 
are  among  his  most  remarkable  attributes.7 

But  his  boyish  days  were  now  over.  In  August,  1811,  he 
was  admitted  to  the  Sophomore  Class  in  Harvard  College, 
having  passed  his  examination  with  credit.  The  next  day  he 
wrote  to  his  father,  then  attending  the  Supreme  Court  at  Port- 

I  For  the  facts  in  this  account  of  the  school-boy  days  of  Mr.  Prescott,  I 
am  partly  indebted,  as  I  am  for  much  else  in  this  memoir,  —  especially  what 
•elates  to  his  college  career,  —  to  Mr.  William  Howard  Gardiner,  the  early 
Iriend  referred  to  in  the  text. 


ENTERS  COLLEGE 


13 


land,  in  Maine,  the  following  letter,  characteristic  of  the  easy 
relations  which  subsisted  between  them,  but  which,  easy  as 
they  were,  did  not  prevent  the  son,  through  his  whole  life,  from 
looking  on  his  admirable  father  with  a  sincere  veneration. 

TO  THE  HON.  WILLIAM  PRESCOTT. 

Boston,  Aug.  23,  [1811]. 

Dear  Father, 

I  now  write  you  a  few  lines  to  inform  you  of  my  fate.  Yesterday  at 
eight  o’clock  I  was  ordered  to  the  President’s,  and  there,  together  with  a 
Carolinian,  Middleton,8  was  examined  for  Sophomore.  When  we  were 
first  ushered  into  their  presence,  they  looked  like  so  many  judges  of  the 
Inquisition.  We  were  ordered  down  into  the  parlor,  almost  frightened 
out  of  our  wits,  to  be  examined  by  each  separately  ;  but  we  soon  found 
them  quite  a  pleasant  sort  of  chaps.  The  President  sent  us  down  a  good 
dish  of  pears,  and  treated  us  very  much  like  gentlemen.9  It  was  not 
ended  in  the  morning ;  but  we  returned  in  the  afternoon,  when  Professor 
Ware  examined  us  in  Grotius  de  Veritatc .10  We  found  him  very  good- 
natured,  for  I  happened  to  ask  him  a  question  in  theology,  which  made 
him  laugh  so  that  he  was  obliged  to  cover  his  face  with  his  hands.  At 
half  past  three  our  fate  was  decided,  and  we  were  declared  ‘  Sophomores 
of  Harvard  University.’ 

As  you  would  like  to  know  how  I  appeared,  I  will  give  you  the  con¬ 
versation,  verbatim,  with  Mr.  Frisbie,  when  I  went  to  see  him  after  the 
examination.  I  asked  him,  “  Did  I  appear  well  in  my  examination  1  ” 
Answer.  “  Yes.”  Question.  “  Did  I  appear  very  well,  Sir  ?  ”  Answer. 
“  Why  are  you  so  particular,  young  man  ?  Yes,  you  did  yourself  a  great 
deal  of  credit.” 11 

8  This  was,  of  course,  his  first  knowledge  of  Mr.  Arthur  Middleton,  with 
whom,  as  a  classmate,  lie  was  afterwards  much  connected,  and  who,  when 
he  was  Secretary  of  Legation  and  Charge  d' Affaires  of  the  United  States  at 
Madrid,  rendered  his  early  friend  important  literary  services,  as  we  shall 
6ee  when  we  reach  that  period  of  Sir.  Prescott’s  life.  Mr.  Middleton  died 
in  1853. 

9  President  Kirkland,  who  had  only  a  few  months  earlier  become  the  head 
of  the  University,  will  always  be  remembered  by  those  who  knew  him,  not 
only  for  the  richness  and  originality  of  his  mind  and  for  his  great  perspica¬ 
city,  but  for  the  kindliness  of  his  nature.  The  days,  however,  in  which  a 
dish  of  pears  followed  an  examination,  were,  I  think,  very-  few  even  in  his 
time,  —  connected  with  no  traditions  of  the  past,  and  not  suited  to  the  state 
of  discipline  since.  It  was,  I  suspect,  only  a  compliment  to  William’s  fam¬ 
ily,  who  had  been  parishioners  of  Dr.  Kirkland,  when  he  was  a  clergyman 
in  Boston. 

10  Dr.  Henry  Ware  was  Hollis  Professor  of  Divinity. 

II  Before  this  examination,  William  had,  for  a  short  time,  been  under  the 
private  and  especial  instruction  of  Mr.  Frisbie,  who  was  then  a  Tutor  in 
Harvard  College,  and  subsequently  one  of  its  favorite  Professors,  —  too  early 
taken  away  by  death,  in  1822. 


u 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


I  feel  to-day  twenty  pounds  lighter  than  I  did  yesterday.  I  shall  dmo 
at  Mr.  Gardiner’s.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gardiner  both  say  that  on  me  depends 
William’s  going  to  college  or  not.  If  I  behave  well,  he  will  go  ;  if  not, 
that  he  certainly  shall  not  go.  Mr.  W.  P.  Mason  has  asked  me  to  dins 
with  him  on  Commencement  Day,  as  he  gives  a  dinner.  I  believe  I 
shall  go.  As  I  bad  but  little  time,  I  thought  it  best  to  tell  a  long  story, 
and  write  it  badly,  rather  than  a  short  one  written  well.  I  have  been  to 

see  Mr.  EL - this  morning ;  —  no  news.  Kemember  me  to  your  fellow- 

travellers,  C.,  &  M.,  &c.,  &c.  Love  to  mother,  whose  affectionate  son  I 
remain, 

Wm.  Hickxing  Pbesooti. 


CHAPTER  II. 


1811-1815. 


College  Life.  —  Good  Resolutions.  —  Injury  to  his  Sight.  —  imme¬ 
diate  Effects.  —  State  of  his  Eye.  —  Relations  with  the  Per¬ 
son  WHO  INFLICTED  THE  INJURY.  —  STUDIES  SUE  SEQUENT  TO  THE 

Injury.  —  Mathematics.  —  Latin  and  Greek.  —  Phi  Beta  Kappa 
Society.  —  Graduated.- — Studies.  —  Severe  Inflammation  of  the 
Eye.  —  His  Character  under  Trial.  —  Anxiety  about  his  Health. 
—  Is  to  visit  Europe. 


T  the  time  "William  thus  gayly  entered  on  his  collegiate 


career,  he  had,  thanks  to  the  excellent  training  he  had 
received  from  Dr.  Gardiner,  a  good  taste  formed  and  forming 
in  English  literature,  and  he  probably  knew  more  of  Latin  and 
Greek  —  not  of  Latin  and  Greek  literature,  but  of  the  lan¬ 
guages  of  Greece  and  Rome  — -  than  most  of  those  who  entered 
college  with  him  knew  when  they  were  graduated.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  had  no  liking  for  mathematics,  and  never  ac¬ 
quired  any ;  nor  did  he  ever  like  metaphysical  discussions  and 
speculations.  His  position  in  his  class  was,  of  course,  deter¬ 
mined  by  these  circumstances,  and  he  was  willing  that  it  should 
be.  But  he  did  not  like  absolutely  to  fail  of  a  respectable  rank. 
It  would  not  have  been  becoming  the  character  of  a  cultivated 
gentleman,  to  which  at  that  time  he  more  earnestly  aspired 
than  to  any  other  ;  nor  would  it  have  satisfied  the  just  expecta¬ 
tions  of  his  family,  which  always  had  much  influence  with  him. 
It  was  difficult  for  him,  however,  to  make  the  efforts  and  the 
sacrifices  indispensable  to  give  him  the  position  of  a  real  scholar. 
He  adopted,  indeed,  rules  for  the  hours,  and  even  the  minutes, 
that  he  would  devote  to  each  particular  study;  but  he  was 
so  careful  never  to  exceed  them,  that  it  was  plain  his  heart 
was  not  in  the  matter,  and  that  he  could  not  reasonably  hope 
to  succeed  by  such  enforced  and  mechanical  arrangements. 
Still,  he  had  already  a  strong  will  concealed  under  a  gay  and 
light-hearted  exterior.  This  saved  him  from  many  dangers. 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


1C 

He  was  always  able  to  stop  short  of  what  he  deemed  flagrant 
excesses,  and  to  keep  within  the  limits,  though  rather  loose 
ones,  which  he  had  prescribed  to  himself.  His  standard  for  the 
character  of  a  gentleman  varied,  no  doubt,  at  this  period,  and 
sometimes  was  not  so  high  on  the  score  of  morals  as  it  should 
have  been ;  but  he  always  acted  up  to  it,  and  never  passed  the 
world’s  line  of  honor,  or  exposed  himself  to  academical  cen¬ 
sures  by  passing  the  less  flexible  line  drawn  by  college  rules. 
He  was,  however,  willing  to  run  very  near  to  both  of  them. 

Among  the  modes  he  adopted  at  this  time  to  regulate  his 
conduct,  was  one  which  had  much  more  influence  with  him 
later,  than  it  had  at  first.  It  wTas  that  of  making  good  reso¬ 
lutions  ;  —  a  practice  in  which  he  persevered  through  life  to 
an  extraordinary  extent,  not  always  heeding  whether  he  kept 
them  with  great  exactness,  but  sure  to  repeat  them  as  often  as 
they  were  broken,  until,  at  last,  some  of  them  took  effect,  and 
his  ultimate  purpose  was,  in  part  at  least,  accomplished.  He 
pardoned  himself,  I  suppose,  too  easily  for  his  manifold  neg¬ 
lects  and  breaches  of  the  compacts  he  had  thus  made  with  his 
conscience ;  but  there  was  repentance  at  the  bottom  of  all, 
and  his  character  was  strengthened  by  the  practice.  The  early 
part  of  his  college  career,  however,  when  for  the  first  time 
he  left  the  too  gentle  restraints  of  his  father’s  house,  was  less 
affected  by  this  system  of  self-control,  and  was  the  most  dan¬ 
gerous  period  of  his  life.  Upon  portions  of  it  he  afterwards 
looked  back  with  regret. 

“It  was  about  this  time,” — says  Mr.  Gardiner,  in  a  very  interesting 
paper  concerning  his  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Prescott,  which  he  has  been 
good  enough  to  place  at  ray  disposition,  —  “  it  was  about  this  time,  that  is, 
pretty  early  in  his  college  life,  when  the  first  excitemeuts  of  perfect  liberty 
of  action  were  a  little  abated,  that  he  began  to  form  good  resolutions,  —  to 
form  them,  not  to  keep  them.  This  was,  so  far  as  I  remember,  the  feeble 
beginning  of  a  process  of  frequent  self-examination  and  moral  self-control, 
which  he  afterwards  cultivated  and  practised  to  a  degree  beyond  all  exam¬ 
ple  that  has  come  under  my  observation  in  cases  of  like  constitutional 
tendency.  It  was,  I  conceive,  the  truly  great  point  of  his  moral  character, 
and  the  chief  foundation  of  all  he  accomplished  in  after  life  as  a  literary 
man ;  a  point  which  lay  always  concealed  to  transient  observers  under 
lightness  and  gayety  of  manner. 

“  This  habit  of  forming  distinct  resolutions  about  all  sorts  of  things, 
sometimes  important,  but  often  in  themselves  tho  merest  trifles  in  the 
world,  grew  up  rapidly  to  an  extent  that  became  rather  ludicrous ;  espe- 


STUDY  AND  CONDUCT. 


17 


daily  as  it  was  accompanied  by  another  habit,  that  of  thinking  aloud,  and 
concealing  nothing  about  himself,  which  led  him  to  announce  to  the  first 
friend  he  met  his  latest  new  resolution.  The  practice,  I  apprehend,  must 
have  reached  its  acme  about  the  time  when  he  informed  me  one  day  that 
lie  had  just  made  a  new  resolution,  which  was,  —  since  he  found  he  could 
not  keep  those  which  he  had  made  before,  —  that  he  would  never  make 
another  resolution  as  long  as  he  lived.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  this  was 
kept  but  a  very  short  time. 

“  These  resolutions,  during  college  days,  related  often  to  the  number  of 
hours,  nay,  the  number  of  minutes,  per  day  to  be  appropriated  to  each  par¬ 
ticular  exercise  or  study ;  the  number  of  recitations  and  public  prayers  per 
week  that  he  would  not  fail  to  attend ;  the  number  of  times  per  week  that 
he  would  not  exceed  in  attending  balls,  theatrical  entertainments  in  Boston, 
&c.,  &c.  What  was  most  observable  in  this  sort  of  accounts  that  he  used 
to  keep  with  himself  was,  that  the  errors  were  all  on  one  side.  Casual 
temptations  easily  led  him,  at  this  time  of  life,  to  break  through  the 
severer  restrictions  of  his  rule,  but  it  was  matter  of  high  conscience  with 
him  never  to  curtail  the  full  quantity  of  indulgences  which  it  allowed. 
He  would  be  sure  not  to  run  one  minute  over,  however  he  might  some¬ 
times  fall  short  of  the  full  time  for  learning  a  particular  lesson,  which  he 
used  to  con  over  with  his  watch  before  him,  lest  by  any  inadvertence  he 
might  cheat  himself  into  too  much  study. 

“  On  the  same  principle,  he  was  careful  never  to  attend  any  greater 
number  of  college  exercises,  nor  any  less  number  of  evening  diversions  in 
Boston,  than  he  had  bargained  for  with  himself.  Then,  as  he  found  out 
by  experience  the  particular  circumstances  which  served  as  good  excuses 
for  infractions  of  his  rule,  he  would  begin  to  complicate  his  accounts  with 
himself  by  introducing  sets  of  fixed  exceptions,  stringing  on  amendment, 
as  it  were,  after  amendment  to  the  general  law,  until  it  became  extremely 
difficult  for  himself  to  tell  what  his  rule  actually  was  in  its  application  to 
the  new  cases  which  arose  ;  and,  at  last,  he  would  take  the  whole  subject, 
so  to  speak,  into  a  new  draft,  embodying  it  in  a  bran-new  resolution.  And 
what  is  particularly  curious  is,  that  all  the  casuistry  attending  this  process 
was  sure  to  be  published,  as  it  went  along,  to  all  his  intimates. 

“  The  manner  in  which  he  used  to  compound  with  his  conscience  in 
such  matters  is  well  illustrated  by  an  anecdote,  which  properly  belongs  to 
a  little  later  period,  but  which  may  well  enough  be  inserted  here.  It  is 
one  which  I  was  lately  put  iu  mind  of  by  Mr.  J.  C.  Gray,  but  which  I  had 
heard  that  gentleman  tell  long  ago  in  Prescott’s  presence,  who  readily 
admitted  it  to  be  substantially  true.  The  incident  referred  to  occurred  at 
the  time  he  and  Mr.  Gray  were  travelling  together  in  Europe.  An  oculist, 
or  physician,  whom  he  had  consulted  at  Paris,  had  advised  him,  among 
other  things,  to  live  less  freely,  and  when  pushed  by  his  patient,  as  was  his 
wont,  to  fix  a  very  precise  limit  to  the  quantity  of  wine  he  might  take,  his 
adviser  told  him  that  he  ought  never  to  exceed  two  glasses  a  day.  This 
rule  he  forthwith  announced  his  resolution  to  adhere  to  scrupulously.  And 
he  did.  But  his  manner  of  observing  it  was  peculiar.  At  every  new 
house  of  entertainment  they  reached  in  their  travels,  one  of  the  first  things 
Prescott  did  was  to  require  the  waiter  to  show  him  specimens  of  all  the 
wine-glasses  the  house  afforded.  He  would  then  pick  out  from  among 


li 


18 


WILLIAM  HICftmlNG  PRESCOTT. 


them  the  largest;  and  this,  though  it  might  contain  two  or  three  times  the 
quantity  of  a  common  wine-glass,  he  would  have  set  by  his  plate  as  his 
measure  at  dinner  to  observe  the  rule  in.” 

But  just  at  the  period  of  his  college  history  to  which  Mr. 
Gardiner  chiefly  refers,  or  a  very  little  later,  the  painful  acci¬ 
dent  befell  him  which,  in  its  consequences,  changed  the  whole 
aspect  of  the  world  to  him,  and  tended,  more  than  any  single 
event  in  his  life,  to  make  him  what  he  at  last  became.  I  refer, 
of  course,  to  the  accident  which  so  fatally  impaired  his  sight. 
It  occurred  in  the  Commons  Hall,  one  day  after  dinner,  in  his 
Junior  year.  On  this  occasion  there  was  some  rude  frolicking 
among  the  undergraduates,  such  as  was  not  very  rare  when  the 
college  officers  had  left  the  tables,  as  they  frequently  did,  a  few 
minutes  before  the  room  was  emptied.  There  was  not,  however, 
in  this  particular  instance,  any  considerable  disorder,  and  Pres¬ 
cott  had  no  share  in  what  there  was.  But  when  he  was  pass¬ 
ing  out  of  the  door  of  the  Hall,  his  attention  was  attracted  by 
the  disturbance  going  on  behind  him.  He  turned  his  head 
quickly  to  see  what  it  was,  and  at  the  same  instant  received  a 
blow  from  a  large,  hard  piece  of  bread,  thrown  undoubtedly 
at  random,  and  in  mere  thoughtlessness  and  gayety.  It  struck 
the  open  eye  ;  —  a  rare  occurrence  in  the  case  of  that  vigilant 
organ,  which,  on  the  approach  of  the  slightest  danger,  is  almost 
always  protected  by  an  instant  and  instinctive  closing  of  the 
lids.  But  here  there  was  no  notice,  —  no  warning.  The  mis¬ 
sile,  which  must  have  been  thrown  with  great  force,  struck  the 
very  disk  of  the  eye  itself.  It  was  the  left  eye.  He  fell,  — 
and  was  immediately  brought  to  his  father’s  house  in  town, 
where,  in  the  course  of  two  or  three  hours  from  the  occurrence  of 
the  accident,  he  was  in  the  hands  of  Dr.  James  Jackson,  the  kind 
friend,  as  well  as  the  wise  medical  adviser,  of  his  father’s  family.1 

The  first  effects  of  the  blow  were  remarkable.  They  were, 
in  fact,  such  as  commonly  attend  a  concussion  of  the  brain. 

1  There  is  a  graceful  tribute  to  Dr.  Jackson  in  Prescott’s  Memoir  of  Mr. 
John  Pickering,  where,  noticing  the  intimacy  of  these  two  distinguished  men, 
he  says,  that  in  London  Mr.  Pickering  was  much  with  Dr.  Jackson,  who  was 
then  “  acquiring  the  rudiments  of  the  profession  which  he  was  to  pursue 
through  a  long  series  of  years  with  so  much  honor  to  himself  and  such  widely 
extended  benefit  to  the  community.”  Collections  of  the  Massachusetts  His¬ 
torical  Society,  Third  Series,  Vol.  X.  p.  208. 


INJURY  TO  HIS  EYE. 


19 


The  strength  of  the  patient  was  instantly  and  completely 
prostrated.  Sickness  at  the  stomach  followed.  His  pulse  was 
feeble.  His  face  became  pale  and  shrunken,  and  the  whole 
tone  of  his  system  was  reduced  so  low,  that  he  could  not  sit  up 
in  bed.  But  his  mind  was  calm  and  clear,  and  he  was  able  to 
give  a  distinct  account  of  the  accident  that  had  befallen  him, 
and  of  what  had  preceded  and  followed  it. 

Under  such  circumstances  no  active  treatment  was  deemed 
advisable.  Quiet  was  strictly  prescribed.  Whatever  could 
tend  to  the  least  excitement,  physical  or  intellectual,  was  for¬ 
bidden.  And  then  nature  was  left  to  herself.  This,  no  doubt, 
was  the  wisest  course.  At  any  rate,  the  system,  which  had  at 
first  yielded  so  alarmingly  to  the  shock,  gradually  recovered  its 
tone,  and  in  a  few  weeks  he  returned  to  Cambridge,  and  pur¬ 
sued  his  studies  as  if  nothing  very  serious  had  happened  ;  - —  a 
little  more  cautiously,  perhaps,  in  some  respects,  but  probably 
with  no  diminution  of  such  very  moderate  diligence  as  he  had 
previously  practised.2  But  the  eye  that  had  been  struck  was 
gone.  No  external  mark,  either  then  or  afterwards,  indicated 
the  injury  that  had  been  inflicted ;  and,  although  a  glimmering 
light  was  still  perceptible  through  the  ruined  organ,  there  was 
none  that  could  be  made  useful  for  any  of  the  practical  pur¬ 
poses  of  life.  On  a  careful  examination,  such  as  I  once  made, 
with  magnifying  lenses,  at  his  request,  under  the  direction  of 
a  distinguished  oculist,  a  difference  could  indeed  be  detected 
between  the  injured  eye  and  the  other,  and  sometimes,  as  I  sat 
with  him,  I  have  thought  that  it  seemed  more  dim ;  but  to  com¬ 
mon  observation,  in  society  or  in  the  streets,  as  in  the  well- 
known  case  of  the  author  of  the  “  Paradise  Lost,”  no  change  was 
perceptible.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  case  of  obscure,  deep  paralysis 
of  the  retina,  and  as  such  was  beyond  the  reach  of  the  healing 
art  from  the  moment  the  blow  was  given. 

One  circumstance,  however,  in  relation  to  the  calamity  that 
thus  fell  on  him  in  the  freshness  of  his  youth,  should  not  be 

*  This  account  of  the  original  injury  to  Mr.  Prescott’s  eye,  and  the  notices 
of  his  subsequent  illnesses  and  death,  in  this  Memoir,  are  abridged  from  an 
interesting  and  important  medical  letter,  which  Dr.  Jackson  was  good  enough 
to  address  to  me  in  June,  1859,  and  which  may  be  found  entire  in  a  little 
volume  entitled,  “Another  Letter  to  a  Young  Physician,”  (Boston,  1861,) 
pp.  130  - 156. 


20 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


overlooked,  because  it  shows,  even  at  this  early  period,  the 
development  of  strong  traits  in  his  character,  such  as  marked 
his  subsequent  life.  I  refer  to  the  fact  that  he  rarely  mentioned 
the  name  of  the  young  man  who  had  thus  inflicted  on  him 
an  irreparable  injury,  and  that  he  never  mentioned  it  in  a  way 
which  could  have  given  pain  either  to  him  or  to  those  nearest 
to  him.  Indeed,  he  so  often  spoke  to  me  of  the  whole  affair  as 
a  mere  chance-medley,  for  which  nobody  could  be  to  blame, 
and  of  which  little  could  be  distinctly  known,  that,  for  a  time, 
I  supposed  he  was  really  ignorant,  and  preferred  to  remain  ig 
norant,  from  whose  hand  the  fatal  blow  had  come.  But  it  was 
not  so.  He  always  knew  who  it  was  ;  and,  years  afterwards, 
when  the  burden  of  the  injury  he  had  received  was  much 
heavier  on  his  thoughts  than  it  had  been  at  first,  and  when  an 
opportunity  occurred  to  do  an  important  kindness  to  the  un- 
happy  person  who  had  inflicted  it,  he  did  it  promptly  and  cor¬ 
dially.  It  was  a  Christian  act,  —  the  more  truly  Christian, 
because,  although  the  blow  was  certainly  given  by  accident,  he 
who  inflicted  it  never  expressed  any  sympathy  with  the  terrible 
suffering  he  had  occasioned.  At  least,  the  sufferer,  to  whom,  if 
to  anybody,  he  shoidd  have  expressed  it,  never  knew  that  he 
regretted  what  he  had  done. 

When  William  returned  to  College,  and  resumed  his  studies 
he  had,  no  doubt,  somewhat  different  views  and  purposes  in  life 
from  those  which  had  most  influenced  him  before  his  accident. 
The  quiet  and  suffering  of  his  dark  room  had  done  their  work, 
at  least  in  part.  He  was,  compared  with  rvhat  he  had  been, 
a  sobered  man.  Not  that  his  spirits  were  seriously  affected  by 
it.  They  survived  even  this.  But  inducements  and  leisure  foi 
reflection  had  been  afforded  him  such  as  he  had  never  known 
before ;  and,  whether  the  thoughts  that  followed  his  accident 
were  the  cause  or  not,  he  now  determined  to  acquire  a  more 
respectable  rank  in  his  class  as  a  scholar,  than  he  had  earlier 
deemed  worth  the  trouble. 

It  was  somewhat  late  to  do  it ;  but,  having  no  little  courage 
and  very  considerable  knowledge  in  elegant  literature,  he  in 
part  succeeded.  His  remarkable  memory  enabled  him  to  get 
on  well  with  the  English  studies ;  even  with  those  for  which, 
as  for  the  higher  metaphysics,  he  had  a  hearty  disrelish.  But 


TROUBLES  IN  COLLEGE. 


21 


mathematics  and  geometry  seemed  to  constitute  an  insurmount¬ 
able  obstacle.  He  had  taken  none  of  the  preparatory  steps  to 
qualify  himself  for  them,  and  it  was  impossible  now  to  go  back 
to  the  elements,  and  lay  a  sufficient  foundation.  He  knew,  in 
fact,  nothing  about  them,  and  never  did  afterwards.  He  be¬ 
came  desperate,  therefore,  and  took  to  desperate  remedies. 

The  first  was  to  commit  to  memory,  with  perfect  exactness, 
the  whole  mathematical  demonstration  required  of  his  class 
on  any  given  day,  so  as  to  be  able  to  recite  every  syllable  and 
letter  of  it  as  they  stood  in  the  book,  without  comprehending 
the  demonstration  at  all,  or  attaching  any  meaning  to  the 
words  and  signs  of  which  it  was  composed.  It  was,  no  doubt, 
a  feat  of  memory  of  which  few  men  would  have  been  capable, 
but  it  was  also  one  whose  worthlessness  a  careful  teacher  would 
very  soon  detect,  and  one,  in  itself,  so  intolerably  onerous,  that 
no  pupil  could  long  practise  it.  Besides,  it  was  a  trick ;  and  a 
fraud  of  any  kind,  except  to  cheat  himself,  was  contrary  to  his 
very  nature. 

After  trying  it,  therefore,  a  few  times,  and  enjoying  what¬ 
ever  amusement  it  could  afford  liim  and  his  friends,  who  were 
in  the  secret,  he  took  another  method  more  characteristic.  He 
went  to  his  Professor,  and  told  him  the  truth ;  not  only  his 
ignorance  of  geometry,  and  his  belief  that  be  was  incapable 
of  understanding  a  word  of  if,  but  the  mode  by  which  he  had 
seemed  to  comply  with  the  requisitions  of  the  recitation-room, 
while  in  fact  he  evaded  them  ;  adding,  at  the  same  time,  that, 
as  a  proof  of  mere  industry,  he  was  willing  to  persevere  in 
committing  the  lessons  to  memory,  and  reciting  by  rote  what 
he  did  not  and  could  not  understand,  if  such  recitations  were 
required  of  him,  but  that  he  would  rather  be  permitted  to  use 
his  time  more  profitably.  The  Professor,  struck  with  the  hon¬ 
esty  and  sincerity  of  his  pupil,  as  well  as  with  the  singularity 
of  the  case,  and  seeing  no  likelihood  that  a  similar  one  would 
occur,  merely  exacted  his  attendance  at  the  regular  hours,  from 
which,  in  fact,  lie  had  no  power  to  excuse  him  ;  but  gave  him 
to  understand  that  be  should  not  be  troubled  further  with  the 
duty  of  reciting.  The  solemn  farce,  therefore,  of  going  to  the 
exercise,  book  in  band,  for  several  months,  without  looking  at 
the  lesson,  was  continued,  and  Prescott  was  always  grateful  to 
the  kind!)'  Professes1  for  his  forbearance. 


22 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


On  another  occasion,  he  was  in  danger  of  more  serious 
trouble  with  one  of  the  Professors.  In  this  case  it  arose  from 
the  circumstance,  that,  at  all  periods  of  his  life,  Prescott  was 
now  and  then  affected  with  a  nervous  laugh,  or  fit  of  laughter, 
which,  as  it  was  always  without  adequate  cause,  sometimes 
broke  out  most  inopportunely.  In  a  very  interesting  sketch  of 
some  passages  in  his  life,  by  his  friend  Gardiner,  which  I  have 
received  since  this  Memoir  was  prepared,  there  is  an  account 
of  two  such  outbreaks,  both  of  which  I  will  give  here,  because 
they  are  connected,  and  belong  to  nearly  the  same  period  in 
his  life,  and  because  the  last  is  strictly  to  be  placed  among  his 
college  adventures.  Speaking  of  this  involuntary  merriment. 
Mr.  Gardiner  says  :  — 

“  How  mirthful  he  was,  —  how  fond  of  a  merry  laugh,  —  how  overflow, 
ing  with  means  to  excite  one  on  all  admissible  occasions,  —  I  have  already 
mentioned.  But  what  I  now  speak  of  was  something  beyond  this.  He 
had  a  sense  of  the  ludicrous  so  strong,  that  it  seemed  at  times  quite  to 
overpower  him.  He  would  laugh  on  such  occasions, — not  vociferously 
indeed,  but  most  inordinately,  and  for  a  long  time  together,  as  if  possessed 
by  the  spirit  of  Momus  himself.  It  seemed  to  be  something  perfectly  un¬ 
controllable,  provoked  often  by  the  slightest  apparent  cause ;  and  some¬ 
times,  in  his  younger  days,  under  circumstances  that  made  its  indulgence 
a  positive  impropriety.  This  seemed  only  to  aggravate  the  disease.  I 
call  it  a  disease  ;  for  it  deprived  him  at  the  time  of  all  self-control,  and  in 
oue  of  the  other  sex  would  have  been  perhaps  hysterical.  But  there  was 
something  irresistibly  comic  in  it  to  the  by-standers,  accompanied,  as  it 
used  to  be,  by  imperfect  efforts,  through  drolleries  uttered  in  broken,  half- 
intelligible  sentences,  to  communicate  the  ludicrous  idea.  This  original 
ludicrous  idea  he  seldom  succeeded  in  communicating ;  but  the  infection 
of  laughter  would  spread,  by  a  sort  of  animal  magnetism,  from  one  to 
another,  till  I  have  seen  a  whole  company  perfectly  convulsed  with  it,  no 
one  of  whom  could  have  told  what  in  the  world  he  was  laughing  at,  unless 
it  were  at  the  sight  of  Prescott,  so  utterly  overcome,  and  struggling  in  vaiD 
to  express  himself. 

“  To  give  a  better  idea  of  this,  I  may  cite  an  instance  that  I  witnessed 
in  his  younger  days,  either  shortly  before,  or  just  after,  his  first  European 
tour.  A  party  of  young  gentlemen  and  ladies — he  and  I  among  them  — 
undertook  to  entertain  themselves  and  their  friends  with  some  private  the¬ 
atricals.  After  having  performed  one  or  two  light  pieces  with  some  suc¬ 
cess,  we  attempted  the  more  ambitious  task  of  getting  up  Julius  Caesar. 
It  proceeded  only  to  two  partial  rehearsals  ;  but  the  manner  in  which  they 
ended  is  to  the  present  point.  When  all  had  sufficiently  studied  their 
parts,  we  met  for  a  final  rehearsal.  The  part  of  Mark  Antony  had  been 
allotted  to  Piescott.  He  got  through  with  it  extremely  well  till  he  cam« 
to  the  speech  in  the  third  act  which  begins,  •  O  pardon  me,  thou  bleeding 
piece  of  earth  1  ’  This  was  addressed  to  one  of  our  company,  extended  on 


SUCCESS  IN  COLLEGE. 


23 


the  floor,  and  enacting  the  part  of  Caesar’s  murdered  corpse,  with  becom¬ 
ing  stillness  and  rigidity.  At  this  point  of  the  performance  the  ludicrous 
seized  upon  Prescott  to  such  a  degree,  that  he  burst  out  into  one  of  his 
grand  fits  of  laughing,  and  laughed  so  immoderately  and  so  infectiously, 
that  the  whole  company,  corpse  and  all,  followed  suit,  and  a  scene  of 
tumult  ensued  which  put  a  stop  to  further  rehearsal.  Another  evening  we 
attempted  it  again,  after  a  solemn  assurance  from  Prescott  that  he  should 
certainly  command  himself,  and  not  give  way  to  such  a  folly  again.  But 
he  did,  - —  in  precisely  the  same  place,  and  with  the  same  result.  After 
that  we  gave  up  Julius  Caesar. 

“  A  more  curious  instance  occurred  while  he  was  in  college.  I  was 
not  present  at  this,  but  have  heard  him  tell  it  repeatedly  in  after  life.  On 
some  occasion  it  happened  that  he  went  to  the  study  of  the  Rhetorical 
Professor,  for  the  purpose  of  receiving  a  private  lesson  in  elocution.  The 
Professor  and  his  pupil  were  entirely  alone.  Prescott  took  his  attitude  as 
orator,  and  began  to  declaim  the  speech  he  had  committed  for  the  purpose ; 
but,  after  proceeding  through  a  sentence  or  two,  something  ludicrous  sud¬ 
denly  came  across  him,  and  it  was  all  over  with  him  at  once,  -—just  as 
when  he  came  to  the  ‘  bleeding  piece  of  earth,’  in  the  scene  above  narrated. 
He  was  seized  with  just  such  an  uncontrollable  fit  of  laughter.  The  Pro¬ 
fessor  —  no  laughing  man  - —  looked  grave,  and  tried  to  check  him  ;  but 
the  more  he  tried  to  do  so,  the  more  Prescott  was  convulsed.  The  Pro¬ 
fessor  began  to  think  his  pupil  intended  to  insult  him.  His  dark  features 
grew  darker,  and  he  began  to  speak  in  a  tone  of  severe  reprimand.  This 
only  seemed  to  aggravate  Prescott’s  paroxysm,  while  he  endeavored,  in 
vain,  to  beg  pardon ;  for  he  could  not  utter  an  intelligible  word.  At  last, 
the  sense  of  the  extreme  ludicrousness  of  the  situation,  and  the  perception 
of  Prescott’s  utter  helplessness,  seized  hold  of  the  Professor  himself.  He 
had  caught  the  infection.  His  features  suddenly  relaxed,  and  he  too  began 
to  laugh;  and  presently  the  two,  Professor  and  pupil,  the  more  they  looked 
at  each  other  the  more  they  laughed,  both  absolutely  holding  on  to  their 
sides,  and  the  tears  rolling  down,  their  cheeks.  Of  course,  there  was  an 
end  of  all  reprimand,  and  equally  an  end  of  all  declamation.  The  Pro¬ 
fessor,  as  became  him,  recovered  himself  first,  but  only  enough  to  say 
‘  Well,  Prescott,  you  may  go.  This  will  do  for  to-day.’  ” 

Mathematics,  by  the  indulgence  of  his  teacher,  being  dis¬ 
posed  of  in  the  manner  I  have  mentioned,  and  several  other 
of  the  severer  studies  being  made  little  more  than  exercises  ot 
memory,  he  was  obliged  to  depend,  for  the  distinction  he  de¬ 
sired  to  obtain  at  college,  and  which  ins  family  demanded  from 
him,  almost  entirely  on  his  progress  in  Latin  and  Greek,  and 
on  his  proficiency  in  English  literature.  These,  however,  to¬ 
gether  with  his  zeal  in  pursuing  them,  were,  by  the  kindness 
of  those  in  academical  authority,  admitted  to  be  sufficient.  He 
received,  in  the  latter  part  of  his  college  career,  some  of  the 
customary  honors  of  successful  scholarship,  and  at  its  close  a 


24 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


Latin  poem  was  assigned  to  him  as  iiis  exercise  for  Commence* 
ment. 

No  honor,  however,  that  he  received  at  college  was  valued 
so  much  by  him,  or  had  been  so  much  an  object  of  his  ambition, 
as  his  admission  to  the  Society  of  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa,  which 
was  composed,  in  its  theory  and  pretensions,  and  generally  in  its 
practice,  of  a  moderate  number  of  the  best  scholars  in  the  two 
upper  classes.  As  the  selection  was  made  by  the  undergradu¬ 
ates  themselves,  and  as  a  single  black-ball  excluded  the  candi¬ 
date,  it  was  a  real  distinction  ;  and  Prescott  always  liked  to 
stand  well  with  his  fellows,  later  in  life  no  less  than  in  youth. 
From  his  own  experience,  therefore,  he  regarded  this  old  and 
peculiar  society  with  great  favor,  and  desired  at  all  periods  to 
maintain  its  privileges  and  influence  in  the  University.3 

The  honor  that  he  received  on  his  graduation  was  felt  to  bb 
appropriate  to  his  tastes,  and  was  not  a  little  valued  by  him 
and  by  his  father,  as  a  proof  of  diligence  in  his  classical  studies. 
It  is  a  pity  that  the  poem  cannot  be  found ;  but  it  seems  to  be 
irrecoverably  lost.  Only  a  few  months  before  his  death,  his  col¬ 
lege  classmate,  Mr.  S.  D.  Bradford,  sent  him  one  of  a  few 
copies,  which  he  had  privately  printed  for  his  children  and 
friends,  of  his  own  scattered  miscellanies,  among  which  was  a 
college  exercise  in  Latin  prose.  Prescott  then  said,  alluding  to 
his  own  Latin  poem :  “  I  wish  I  had  taken  as  good  care  of  it 
as  you  have  of  your  exercises.  I  have  hunted  for  it  in  every 
quarter  where  I  supposed  I  could  have  mislaid  it,  but  in  vain. 
If  I  should  find  it.”  he  adds,  with  his  accustomed  kindliness, 
“  I  shall  feel  content  if  the  Latin  will  pass  muster  as  well  as 
in  your  performance.” 

It  was  a  pleasant  little  poem,  on  Hope,  “  Ad  Spem,”  and,  if 

8  The  B  K,  it  should  be  remembered,  was,  at  that  period,  a  society  of  much 
more  dignity  and  consequence  than  it  is  now.  It  had  an  anuual  public  exhi¬ 
bition,  largely  attended  by  such  graduates  as  were  its  members,  and,  indeed, 
by  the  more  cultivated  portion  of  the  community  generally.  The  under¬ 
graduates  were  in  this  way  associated  at  once  with  the  prominent  and  distin¬ 
guished  among  their  predecessors,  who  were  themselves  pleased  thus  to  recall 
the  rank,  both  as  scholars  and  as  gentlemen,  which  they  had  early  gained, 
and  which  they  still  valued.  Membership  in  such  an  association  was  precisely 
the  sort  of  honor  which  a  young  man  like  Prescott  would  covet,  and  he 
always  regretted  that  its  influence  among  the  undergraduates  had  not  been 
sustained. 


GRADUATION. 


25 


I  remember  rightly,  it  was  in  hexameters  and  pentameters.  It 
was  delivered  in  a  hot,  clear  day  of  August,  1814,  in  the  old 
meeting-house  at  Cambridge,  to  a  crowded  audience  of  the 
most  distinguished  people  of  Boston  and  the  neighborhood, 
attracted  in  no  small  degree  by  an  entertainment  which  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Prescott  were  to  give  the  same  afternoon  in  honor  of 
their  son's  success,  —  one  of  the  very  last  of  the  many  large 
entertainments  formerly  given  at  Cambridge  on  such  occasions, 
and  which,  hi  their  day,  rendered  Commencement  a  more  bril¬ 
liant  festival  than  it  is  now.  I  was  there  to  hear  my  friend. 
I  could  see,  by  his  tremulous  motions,  that  he  was  a  good  deal 
frightened  when  speaking  before  so  large  an  assembly ;  but  still 
his  appearance  was  manly,  and  his  verses  were  thought  well  of 
by  those  who  had  a  right  to  judge  of  their  merit.  I  have  no 
doubt  they  would  do  credit  to  Ins  Latinity  if  they  could  now 
be  found,  for  at  school  he  wrote  such  verses  better  than  any 
boy  there. 

After  the  literary  exercises  of  the  day  came,  of  course,  the 
entertainment  to  the  friends  of  the  family.  This  was  given  as 
a  reward  to  the  cherished  son,  which  he  valued  not  a  little,  and 
the  promise  of  which  had  much  stimulated  his  efforts  in  the 
latter  part  of  his  college  life.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  somewhat 
sumptuous  dinner,  under  a  marquee,  at  which  above  five  hun¬ 
dred  persons  of  both  sexes  sat  down,  and  which  was  thoroughly 
enjoyed  by  all  who  took  an  interest  in  the  occasion.  His 
mother  did  not  hesitate  to  express  the  pleasure  her  son’s  suc¬ 
cess  had  given  her,  and  if  his  father,  from  the  instincts  of  his 
nature,  was  more  reserved,  he  was  undoubtedly  no  less  satisfied. 
William  was  very  gay,  as  he  always  was  in  society,  and  perfectly 
natural ;  dancing  and  frolicking  on  the  green  with  great  spirit 
after  the  more  formal  part  of  tiie  festivities  was  over.  He  was 
not  sorry  that  his  college  life  was  ended,  and  said  so  ;  but  lie 
parted  from  a  few  of  his  friends  with  sincere  pain,  as  they  left 
Cambridge  to  go  their  several  ways  in  the  world,  never  to 
meet  again  as  free  and  careless  as  they  then  were.  Indeed,  on 
such  occasions,  notwithstanding  the  vivacity  of  his  nature,  he 
was  forced  to  yield  a  little  to  his  feelings,  as  I  have  myself 
sometimes  witnessed.'1 

4  There  are  some  remarks  oC  Mr.  Prescott  on  college  life  m  his  Memoir  of 
‘i 


26 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  TRESCOTT. 


Immediately  after  leaving  college,  he  entered  as  a  student  m 
his  father’s  office  ;  for  the  law  was,  in  some  sort,  his  natural 
inheritance,  and  —  with  his  own  talents  already  sufficiently 
developed  to  be  recognized,  and  with  the  countenance  and  aid 
of  a  lawyer  as  eminent  as  his  father  was  —  the  path  to  success 
at  the  bar  seemed  both  tempting  and  sure.  But  his  tastes 
were  still  for  the  pursuits  which  he  had  always  most  loved. 
He  entertained,  indeed,  no  doubt  what  would  be  his  ultimate 
career  in  life  ;  but  still  he  lingered  fondly  over  his  Greek  and 
Latin  books,  and  was  encouraged  in  an  indulgence  of  his  pref¬ 
erence  by  his  family  and  friends,  who  rightly  regarded  such 
studies  as  the  safest  means  and  foundations  for  forensic  emi¬ 
nence.  He  talked  with  me  about  them  occasionally,  and  I 
rejoiced  to  hear  his  accounts  of  himself ;  for,  although  I  had 
then  been  myself  admitted  to  the  bar,  my  tastes  were  the  same, 
and  it  was  pleasant  for  me  to  have  his  sympathy,  as  he  always 
had  mine. 

Four  or  five  months  were  passed  in  this  way,  and  then 
another  dark  and  threatening  cloud  came  over  his  happy  life. 
In  January,  1815,  he  called  one  day  on  his  medical  adviser, 

Mr.  Pickering,  written  in  1848,  not  without  a  recollection  of  his  own  early 
experiences,  which  may  well  be  added  here.  “  The  four  years  of  college  life 
form,  perhaps,  the  most  critical  epoch  in  the  existence  of  the  individual. 
This  is  especially  the  case  in  our  country,  wThere  they  occur  at  the  transition 
period,  —  when  the  boy  ripens  into  the  man.  The  University,  that  little 
world  of  itself,  shut  out  by  a  great  barrier,  as  it  were,  from  the  past  equally 
with  the  future,  bounding  the  visible  horizon  of  the  student  like  the  walls  of 
a  monastery,  still  leaves  within  them  scope  enough  for  all  the  sympathies  and 
the  passions  of  manhood.  Taken  from  the  searching  eye  of  parental  super¬ 
vision,  the  youthful  scholar  finds  the  shackles  of  early  discipline  fall  from 
him,  as  he  is  left  to  the  disposal,  in  a  great  degree,  of  his  own  hours  and  the 
choice  of  his  own  associates.  His  powers  are  quickened  by  collision  with 
various  minds,  and  by  the  bolder  range  of  studies  now  open  to  him.  He  finds 
the  same  incentives  to  ambition  as  in  the  wider  world,  and  contends  with  the 
same  zeal  for  honors  which,  to  his  eye,  seem  quite  as  real  —  and  are  they  not 
so?  —  as  those  in  later  life.  He  meets,  too,  with  the  same  obstacles  to  success 
as  in  the  world,  the  same  temptations  to  idleness,  the  same  gilded  seductions, 
but  without  the  same  power  of  resistance.  For  in  this  moming  of  life  his 
passions  are  strongest;  his  animal  nature  is  more  sensible  to  enjoyment;  his 
reasoning  faculties  less  vigorous  and  mature.  Happy  the  youth  who,  in  this 
stage  of  his  existence,  is  so  strong  in  his  principles  that  he  can  pass  through 
the  ordeal  without  faltering  or  failing:  —  on  whom  the  contact  of  bad  com¬ 
panionship  has  left  no  stain  for  future  tears  to  wash  away.”  Collections  of 
the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society,  Third  Scries,  Vol.  X.,  (1849,)  pp.  206, 207 


INFLAMMATION  IN  HIS  EYE. 


27 


Dr.  Jackson,  and  consulted  him  for  an  inconsiderable  inflam¬ 
mation  of  his  right  eye.  It  was  his  sole  dependence  for  sight, 
and  therefore,  although  it  had  served  him  tolerably  well  for 
above  a  year  and  a  half  since  the  accident  to  the  other,  the 
slightest  affection  of  its  powers  inevitably  excited  anxiety.  The 
inflammation  was  then  wholly  on  the  surface  of  the  organ,  but 
yet  he  complained  of  a  degree  of  difficulty  and  pain  in  moving 
it,  greater  than  is  commonly  noticed  in  a  case  of  so  little  gravity 
as  this  otherwise  seemed  to  be.  Leeches,  therefore,  were  or¬ 
dered  for  the  temple,  and  a  saturnine  lotion,  —  simple  remedies, 
no  doubt,  but  such  as  were  sufficient  for  the  apparent  affection, 
and  quite  as  active  in  their  nature  as  was  deemed  judicious. 

But  in  the  course  of  the  night  the  pain  was  greatly  increased, 
and  on  the  following  morning  the  inflammation,  which  at  first 
had  been  trifling,  was  found  to  be  excessive,  —  greater,  indeed, 
than  his  physician,  down  to  the  present  day,  after  a  very  wide 
practice  of  above  sixty  years,  has,  as  he  informs  me,  ever  wit¬ 
nessed  since.  The  eye  itself  was  much  swollen,  the  cornea  had 
become  opaque,  and  the  power  of  vision  was  completely  lost. 
At  the  same  time  the  patient’s  skin  was  found  to  be  very  hot, 
and  his  pulse  hard  and  accelerated.  The  whole  system,  i' 
short,  was  much  disturbed,  and  the  case  had  evidently  become 
one  of  unusual  severity. 

To  his  calm  and  wise  father,  therefore,  —  to  his  physician, 
who  was  not  less  his  friend  than  his  professional  adviser,  —  and 
to  himself,  for  he  too  was  consulted,  —  it  seemed  that  every 
risk,  except  that  of  life,  should  be  run,  to  save  him  from  the 
permanent  and  total  blindness  with  which  he  was  obviously 
threatened.  Copious  bleedings  and  other  depletions  were  con¬ 
sequently  at  once  resorted  to,  and  seemed,  for  a  few  hours, 
to  have  made  an  impression  on  the  disease  ;  but  the  suffering 
returned  again  with  great  severity  during  the  subsequent  night, 
and  the  inflammation  raged  with  such  absolute  fury  for  five 
days,  as  to  resist  every  form  of  active  treatment  that  could  be 
devised  by  his  anxious  physician,  and  by  Dr.  John  C.  Warren, 
who  had  been  summoned  in  consultation.  The  gloomiest  appre¬ 
hensions,  therefore,  were  necessarily  entertained ;  and  even 
when,  on  the  sixth  day,  the  inflammation  began  to  yield,  and, 
on  the  morning  of  the  seventh,  had  almost  wholly  subsided. 


28 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  I’lIESCO'lT. 


little  encouragement  for  a  happy  result  could  be  felt ;  for  the 
retina  was  found  to  be  affected,  and  the  powers  of  vision  were 
obviously  and  seriously  impaired. 

But  in  the  afternoon  of  the  seventh  day  the  case  assumed  a 
new  phasis,  and  the  father,  much  alarmed,  hastened  in  person 
to  Dr.  Jackson,  telling  him  that  one  of  the  patient’s  knees  had 
become  painful,  and  that  the  pain,  accompanied  with  redness 
and  swelling,  was  increasing  fast.  To  his  surprise,  Dr.  Jack- 
son  answered  very  emphatically  that  he  was  most  happy  to 
hear  it. 

The  mystery  which  had  hung  over  the  disease,  from  the  first 
intimation  of  a  peculiar  difficulty  in  moving  the  organ,  was 
now  dispelled.  It  was  a  case  of  acute  rheumatism.  This  had 
not  been  foreseen.  In  fact,  an  instance  in  which  the  acute 
form  of  that  disease  —  not  the  chronic  —  had  seized  on  the 
eye  was  unknown  to  the  books  of  the  profession.  Both  of 
his  medical  attendants,  it  is  true,  thought  they  had,  in  their 
previous  practice,  noticed  some  evidence  of  such  an  affection ; 
and  therefore  when  the  assault  was  made  on  the  knee  in  the 
pi-esent  case,  they  had  no  longer  any  doubt  concerning  the 
matter.  As  the  event  proved,  they  had  no  sufficient  reason 
for  any.  In  truth,  the  rheumatism,  which  had  attacked  their 
patient  in  this  mysterious  but  fierce  manner,  was  the  disease 
which,  in  its  direct  and  indirect  forms,  persecuted  him  during 
the  whole  of  his  life  afterwards,  and  caused  him  most  of  the 
sufferings  and  privations  that  he  underwent  in  so  many  different 
ways,  but,  above  all,  in  the  impaired  vision  of  his  remaining 
eye.  Bad,  however,  as  was  this  condition  of  things,  it  was 
yet  a  relief  to  his  anxious  advisers  to  be  assured  of  its  real 
character  ;  —  not,  indeed,  because  they  regarded  acute  rheuma¬ 
tism  in  the  eye  as  a  slight  disease,  but  because  they  thought,  it 
less  formidable  in  its  nature,  and  less  likely  at  last  to  destroy 
the  structure  of  the  organ,  than  a  common  inflammation  so 
severe  and  so  unmanageable  as  this  must,  in  the  supposed  case, 
have  been. 

The  disease  now  exhibited  the  usual  appearances  of  acute 
rheumatism  ;  affecting  chiefly  the  large  joints  of  the  lower 
extremities,  but  occasionally  showing  itself  in  the  neck,  and 
m  other  parts  of  the  person.  Twice,  in  the  course  of  the  next 


RHEUMATISM  IN  HIS  EYE. 


29 


three  months  after  the  first  attack,  it  recurred  in  the  eye, 
accompanied  each  time  with  total  blindness ;  but,  whenever  it 
left  the  eye,  it  resorted  again  to  the  limbs,  and  so  seveie  was  it, 
even  when  least  violent,  that,  until  the  beginning  of  May,  a 
period  of  sixteen  weeks,  the  patient  was  unable  to  walk  a  step. 

But  no  tiling  was  able  permanently  to  affect  the  natural  flow 
of  his  spirits,  —  neither  pain,  nor  the  sharp  surgical  remedies 
to  which  he  was  repeatedly  subjected,  nor  the  disheartening 
darkness  in  which  he  was  kept,  nor  the  gloomy  vista  that  the 
future  seemed  to  open  before  him.  His  equanimity  and  cheer¬ 
fulness  were  invincible. 

During  nearly  the  whole  of  this  trying  period  I  did  not  see 
him  ;  for  I  was  absent  on  a  journey  to  Virginia  from  the  begin¬ 
ning  of  December  to  the  end  of  March.  But  when  I  did  see 
him,  —  if  seeing  it  could  be  called,  in  a  room  from  which  the 
light  was  almost  entirely  excluded,  • —  I  found  him  quite  un¬ 
changed,  either  in  the  tones  of  his  voice  or  the  animation  of  his 
manner.  He  was  perfectly  natural  and  very  gay ;  talking 
unwillingly  of*his  own  troubles,  but  curious  and  interested  con¬ 
cerning  an  absence  of  several  years  in  Europe  which  at  that 
time  I  was  about  to  commence.  I  found  him,  in  fact,  just  as 
his  mother  afterwards  described  him  to  Dr.  Frothingham, 
when  she  said :  “  I  never  in  a  single  instance,  groped  my  way 
across  the  apartment,  to  take  my  place  at  his  side,  that  he  did 
not  salute  me  with  some  expression  of  good  cheer,  —  not  a 
single  instance,  —  as  if  we  were  the  patients,  and  his  place 
were  to  comfort  us.”  6 

The  following  summer  wore  slowly  away ;  not  without  much 
anxiety  on  the  part  of  bis  family,  as  to  what  might  be  the  end 
of  so  much  suffering,  and  whether  the  patient’s  infirmities 
would  not  be  materially  aggravated  by  one  of  our  rigorous 
winters.  Different  plans  were  agitated.  At  last,  in  the  early 
autumn,  it  was  determined  that  he  should  pass  the  next  six 
months  with  his  grandfather  Hickling,  Consul  of  the  United 
States  at  St.  Michael’s,  and  then  that  he  should  visit  London 
and  Paris  for  the  benefit  of  such  medical  advice  as  he  might 
find  in  either  metropolis  ;  travelling,  perhaps,  afterwards  on  the 

6  Proceedings  of  the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society.  (Boston,  1850,) 
p.  183. 


80 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


Continent,  to  recruit  the  resources  of  his  constitution,  which 
by  such  long-continued  illness  had  been  somewhat  impaired. 
It  was  a  remedy  which  was  not  adopted  without  pain  and  mis¬ 
giving  on  both  sides ;  but  it  was  evidently  the  best  tiling  to  be 
done,  and  all  submitted  to  it  with  patience  and  hope. 


CHAPTER  III 


1815-1816, 

Visit  to  St.  Michael’s.  — -  His  Life  these.  —  Suffering  in  ms  Eye,, 
—  His  Letters  to  his  Father  and  Mother  ;  to  his  Sister  ;  and 
to  W.  H.  Gardiner. 

IN  fulfilment  of  the  plan  for  travel  mentioned  in  the  last 
chapter,  he  embarked  at  Boston,  on  the  26th  of  September, 
1815,  for  the  Azores.  Besides  the  usual  annoyances  of  a  sea- 
voyage  in  one  of  the  small  vessels  that  then  carried  on  our 
commerce  with  the  Western  Islands,  he  suffered  from  the  es¬ 
pecial  troubles  of  his  own  case ;  —  sharp  attacks  of  rheumatism 
and  an  inflammation  of  the  eye,  for  which  he  had  no  remedies 
but  the  twilight  of  his  miserable  cabin,  and  a  diet  of  rye  pud¬ 
ding,  with  no  sauce  but  coarse  salt.  The  passage,  too,  was 
tediously  long.  He  did  not  arrive  until  the  twenty-second  day. 
Before  he  landed,  he  wrote  to  his  father  and  mother,  with  the 
freedom  and  affection  which  always  marked  his  intercourse 
with  them :  — 

“  I  have  been  treated,”  he  said,  “  with  every  attention  by  the  captain 
and  crew,  and  my  situation  rendered  as  comfortable  as  possible.  But  this 
cabin  was  never  designed  for  rheumatics.  The  companion-way  opens 
immediately  upon  deck,  and  the  patent  binnacle  illuminators,  vice  windows, 
are  so  ingeniously  and  impartially  constructed,  that  for  every  ray  of  light 
we  have  half  a  dozen  drops  of  water.  The  consequence  is,  that  the  orbit 
of  my  operations  for  days  together  has  been  very  much  restricted.  I  have 
banished  ennui,  however,  by  battling  with  Democrats  and  bed-bugs,  both 
of  which  thrive  on  board  this  vessel,  and  in  both  of  which  contests  I  have 
been  ably  seconded  by  the  cook,  who  has  officiated  as  my  valet  de  chambre, 
and  in  whom  I  find  a  great  congeniality  of  sentiment.” 

An  hour  after  writing  this  letter,  October  18th,  he  landed. 
He  was  most  kindly  received  by  his  grandfather,  — -  a  generous, 
open-handed,  open-hearted  gentleman,  seventy-two  years  old, 
who  had  long  before  married  a  lady  of  the  island  as  his  second 
wife,  and  was  surrounded  by  a  family  of  interesting  children, 
some  of  whom  were  so  near  the  age  of  their  young  nephew  of 


32 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


the  half-blood,  that  they  made  him  most  agreeable  companions 
and  friends.  They  were  all  then  residing  a  few  miles  from 
Ponta  Delgada,  the  capital  of  the  island  of  St.  Michael’s,  at  a 
place  called  Rosto  de  Cuo,  from  the  supposed  resemblance  of 
its  rocks  to  the  head  of  a  dog.  It  was  a  country-house,  in  the 
midst  of  charming  gardens  and  the  gayest  cultivation.  The 
young  American,  who  had  been  little  from  home,  and  never 
beyond  the  influences  of  the  rude  climate  in  which  he  was 
born,  enjoyed  excessively  the  all  but  tropical  vegetation  with 
which  he  found  himself  thus  suddenly  surrounded  ;  the  laurels 
and  myrtles  that  everywhere  sprang  wild  ;  and  the  multitudi¬ 
nous  orange-groves  which  had  been  cultivated  and  extended 
chiefly  through  hi3  grandfather’s  spirit  and  energy,  until  their 
fruit  had  become  the  staple  of  the  island,  while,  more  than 
half  the  year,  their  flowers  filled  large  portions  of  it  with  a 
delicious  fragrance ;  “  Hesperian  fables  true,  if  true,  here 
only.” 

But  his  pleasures  of  this  sort  were  short-lived.  He  had 
landed  with  a  slight  trouble  in  his  eye,  and  a  fortnight  was 
hardly  over  before  he  was  obliged  to  shut  himself  up  with  it. 
From  November  1st  to  February  1st  he  was  in  a  dark  room ;  — 
six  weeks  of  the  time  in  such  total  darkness,  that  the  furniture 
could  not  be  distinguished  ;  and  all  the  time  living  on  a  spare 
vegetable  diet,  and  applying  blisters  to  keep  down  active  in¬ 
flammation.  But  his  spirits  were  proof  alike  against  pain  and 
abstinence.  He  has  often  described  to  me  the  exercise  he  took 
in  Ids  large  room,  —  hundreds  of  miles  in  all,  —  walking  from 
corner  to  corner,  and  thrusting  out  his  elbows  so  as  to  get 
warning  through  them  of  Ids  approach  to  the  angles  of  the 
wall,  whose  plastering  he  absolutely  wore  away  by  the  constant 
blows  he  thus  inflicted  on  it.  And  all  this  time,  he  added, 
with  the  exception  of  a  few  days  of  acute  suffering,  he  sang 
aloud  in  his  darkness  and  solitude,  with  unabated  cheer.  Later, 
when  a  little  light  could  be  admitted,  he  carefully  covered  his 
eyes,  and  listened  to  reading ;  and,  at  the  worst,  lie  enjoyed 
much  of  the  society  of  his  affectionate  aunts  and  cousins. 

But  he  shall  speak  for  himself,  in  two  or  three  of  the  few 
letters  which  are  preserved  from  the  period  of  his  residence  in 
the  Azores  and  his  subsequent  travels  in  Europe. 


AT  ST.  MICHAEL’S. 


33 


TO  HIS  FATHER  AND  MOTHER. 

Rosto  de  Cao,  13  Nov.,  1815. 

It  is  with  heart-felt  joy,  my  beloved  parents,  that  I  can  address  you 
I'rom  this  blessed  little  isle.  I  landed  on  Wednesday,  October  18th,  at 
10  A.  M.,  after  a  most  tedious  passage  of  twenty-two  days,  although  I  had 
made  a  fixed  determination  to  arrive  in  ten.  I  cannot  be  thankful  enough 
to  Heaven  that  it  had  not  cased  in  these  rheumatic  shackles  the  navigating 
soul  of  a  Cook  or  a  Columbus,  for  I  am  very  sure,  if  a  fifth  quarter  of  the 
globe  depended  upon  me  for  its  exposure,  it  would  remain  terra  incognita 

forever . I  was  received  on  the  quay  by  my  Uncles  Thomas  and 

Ivers,  and  proceeded  immediately  to  the  house  of  the  latter,  where  I  dis¬ 
posed  of  a  nescio  quantum  of  bread  and  milk,  to  the  no  small  astonishment 
of  two  or  three  young  cousins,  who  thought  it  the  usual  American  appetite. 

The  city  of  l  or.ta  Delgada,  as  seen  from  the  roads,  presents  an  appear¬ 
ance  extremely  unique,  and,  to  one  who  has  never  been  beyond  the  smoke 
of  his  own  hamlet,  seems  rather  enchantment  than  reality.  The  brilliant 
whiteness  of  the  buildings,  situated  at  the  base  of  lofty  hills,  whose  sides 
are  clothed  with  fields  of  yellow  corn,  and  the  picturesque,  admirably 
heightened  by  the  turrets  which  rise  from  the  numerous  convents  that  dis¬ 
grace  and  beautify  the  city,  present  a  coup  cl’ ceil  on  which  the  genius  of  a 
Radciiffe,  or  indeed  any  one,  much  less  an  admirer  of  the  beauties  of 
nature  than  myself,  might  expend  a  folio  of  sentimentality  and  nonsense. 
After  breakfast  I  proceeded  to  Rosto  de  Cao,  where  I  have  now  the  good 
fortune  to  be  domesticated.  My  dear  grandfather  is  precisely  the  man  I 
had  imagined  and  wished  him  to  be.  Frank  and  gentlemanly  in  his  de¬ 
portment,  affectionate  to  his  family,  and  liberal  to  excess  in  all  his  feelings, 
his  hand  serves  as  the  conductor  of  his  heart,  and  when  he  shakes  yours, 
he  communicates  all  the  overflowings  of  his  own  benevolent  disposition. 
His  bodily  virtues  are  no  less  inspiring  than  his  mental.  He  rises  every 
morning  at  five,  takes  a  remarkable  interest  in  everything  that  is  going 
forward,  and  is  so  alert  in  his  motions,  that,  at  a  fair  start,  I  would  lay 
any  odds  he  would  distance  the  whole  of  his  posterity.  He  plumes  himself 
not  a  little  upon  his  constitution,  and  tells  me  that  I  am  much  more  de* 
serving  of  the  title  of  “  old  boy  ”  than  himself. 

I  should  give  you  a  sort  of  biography  of  the  whole  family,  but  my  aunt, 
who  officiates  as  secretary,  absolutely  refuses  to  write  any  more  encomi¬ 
ums  on  them,  and,  as  I  have  nothing  very  ill  to  say  of  them  at  present,  I 
shall  postpone  this  until  you  can  receive  some  official  documents  sub  mea 
manu.  The  truth  is,  I  am  so  lately  recovered  from  a  slight  inflammation, 
which  the  rain  water,  salt  water,  and  other  marine  comforts  arc  so  well 
calculated  to  produce,  that  I  do  not  care  to  exert  my  eyes  at  present,  for 
which  reason  my  ideas  arc  communicated  to  you  by  the  hand  of  my  aunt. 

We  move  into  town  this  week,  where  I  have  been  but  seldom  since  my 
arrival,  and  have  confined  my  curiosity  to  some  equestrian  excursions 
round  the  country.  Novelty  of  tcenery  is  alone  sufficient  to  interest  one 
who  has  been  accustomed  to  the  productions  of  Northern  climates.  It  is 
very  curious,  my  dear  parents,  to  see  those  plants  which  cne  has  been 
accustomed  to  see  reared  in  a  hot-house,  flourishing  beneath  the  open  sky, 
2* 


0 


di 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


and  attaining  a  height  and  perfection  which  no  artificial  heat  can  com¬ 
mand.  When  I  wander  amid  the  groves  of  boxwood,  cypress,  and  myr¬ 
tle,  I  feel  myself  transported  back  to  the  ages  of  Horace  and  Anacreon, 
who  consecrated  their  shades  to  immortality. 

The  climate,  though  very  temperate  for  winter,  is  much  too  frigid  for 
summer,  and  before  I  could  venture  a  flight  of  poesy,  I  should  be  obliged 
to  thaw  out  my  imagination  over  a  good  December  fire.  The  weather  is 
so  capricious,  that  the  inhabitants  are  absolutely  amphibious  ;  —  if  they 
are  in  sunshine  one  half  of  the  day,  they  are  sure  to  be  in  water  the  other 
half. . 

Give  my  best  affection  to  Aunt  A - ’s  charming  family,  and  be  par¬ 
ticular  respecting  Mrs.  H - ’s  health.  Tell  my  friends,  that,  when  my 

eyes  are  in  trim,  I  shall  not  fail  to  fatigue  their  patience. 

Remember  me  to  our  good  people,  and  think  often,  my  beloved  parents, 
)f  your  truly  affectionate  son, 

William. 


TO  HIS  SISTER. 

St.  Michael’s,  Ponta  Delgada,  March  12,  1816. 

I  am  happy,  my  darling  sister,  in  an  opportunity  of  declaring  how 

much  I  love,  and  how  often  I  think  of  you . 

Since  my  recovery  —  to  avail  myself  of  a  simile  not  exactly  Homeric 
—  I  may  be  compared  to  bottled  beer,  which,  when  it  has  been  imprisoned 
a  long  time,  bursts  forth  with  tremendous  explosion,  and  evaporates  in 
froth  and  smoke.  Since  my  emancipation  I  have  made  more  noise  and 
rattled  more  nonsense  than  the  ball-rooms  of  Boston  ever  witnessed.  Two 
or  three  times  a  week  we  make  excursions  into  the  country  on  jacks,  a 
very  agreeable  mode  of  riding,  and  visit  the  orangeries,  which  are  now  in 
their  prime.  What  a  prospect  presents  itself  for  the  dead  of  winter !  The 
country  is  everywhere  in  the  bloom  of  vegetation  ;  —  the  myrtles,  the  roses, 
and  laurels  are  in  full  bloom,  and  the  dark  green  of  the  orange  groves  is 
finely  contrasted  with  “  the  golden  apples  ”  which  glitter  through  their 
foliage.  Amidst  such  a  scene  I  feel  like  a  being  of  another  world,  new 

lighted  on  this  distant  home . 

The  houses  of  this  country  are  built  of  stone,  covered  with  white  lime. 
They  are  seldom  more  than  two  stories  in  height,  and  the  lower  floors  are 
devoted  to  the  cattle.  They  are  most  lavish  of  expense  on  their  churches, 
which  are  profusely  ornamented  with  gilding  and  carving,  which,  though 
poorly  executed,  produces  a  wonderful  effect  by  candle-light.  They  are 
generally  fortified  with  eight  or  ten  bells,  and  when  a  great  character  walks 
off  the  carpet,  they  keep  them  in  continual  jingle,  as  they  have  great  faith 
in  ringing  the  soul  through  Purgatory.  When  a  poor  man  loses  his 
child,  his  friends  congratulate  him  on  so  joyful  an  occasion ;  but  if  his  pig 
dies,  they  condole  with  him.  I  know  not  but  this  may  be  a  fair  estimate 
of  their  relative  worth . 

The  whole  appearance  of  this  country  is  volcanic.  In  the  environs  I 
have  seen  acres  covered  with  lava,  and  incapable  of  culture,  and  most  of 
the  mountains  still  retain  the  vestiges  of  craters.  Scarcely  a  year  passes 
without  an  earthquake.  I  have  been  so  fortunate  as  to  witness  the  most 


AT  ST.  MICHAEL’S. 


35 


tremendous  of  these  convulsions  within  the  memory  of  the  present  inhabi¬ 
tants.  This  was  on  the  1st  of  February,  at  midnight.  So  severe  was  the 
shock,  that  more  than  forty  houses  and  many  of  the  public  edifices  were 
overthrown  or  injured,  and  our  house  cracked  in  various  places  from  top 
to  bottom.  The  whole  city  was  thrown  into  consternation.  Our  family 
assembled  en  chemise  in  the  corridor.  I  was  wise  enough  to  keep  quiet  in 
bed,  as  I  considered  a  cold  more  dangerous  to  me  than  an  earthquake. 
But  we  were  all  excessively  alarmed.  There  is  no  visitation  more  awful 
than  this.  From  most  dangers  there  is  some  refuge,  but  when  nature  is 
convulsed,  where  can  we  fly  ?  An  earthquake  is  commonly  past  before 
one  has  time  to  estimate  the  horrors  of  his  situation ;  but  this  lasted  three 
‘minutes  and  a  half,  and  we  had  full  leisure  to  summon  up  the  ghosts  of 
Lisbon  and  Herculaneum,  and  many  other  recollections  equally  soothing, 
and  I  confess  the  idea  of  terminating  my  career  in  this  manner  was  not 
the  most  agreeable  of  my  reflections. 

A  few  weeks  since,  my  dear  sister,  I  visited  some  hot  springs  in  Ribeira 
Grande,  at  the  northern  part  of  the  island ;  but,  as  I  have  since  been  to 
“the  Furnace,”  where  I  have  seen  what  is  much  more  wonderful  and 
beautiful  in  nature,  I  shall  content  myself  with  a  description  of  the  latter 
excursion. 

Our  road  lay  through  a  mountainous  country,  abounding  in  wild  and 
picturesque  scenery.  Our  party  consisted  of  about  twenty,  and  we  trav¬ 
elled  upon  jacks,  which  is  the  pleasantest  conveyance  in  the  world,  both 
from  its  sociability,  and  the  little  fatigue  which  attends  it.  As  we  rode 
irregularly,  our  cavalcade  had  a  very  romantic  appearance  ;  for,  while 
some  of  us  were  in  the  vale,  others  were  on  the  heights  of  the  mountains, 
or  winding  down  the  declivities,  on  the  brink  of  precipices  two  hundred 
feet  perpendicular. 

As  my  imagination  was  entirely  occupied  with  the  volcanic  phenomena 
for  which  the  Furnace  is  so  celebrated,  I  had  formed  no  ideas  of  any  milder 
attractions.  What  was  my  surprise,  then,  when,  descending  the  moun¬ 
tains  at  twilight,  there  burst  upon  our  view  a  circular  valley,  ten  miles  in 
circumference,  bounded  on  all  sides  by  lofty  hills,  and  in  the  richest  state 
of  cultivation.  The  evening  bell  was  tolling,  as  we  descended  into  the  plain, 
to  inform  the  inhabitants  of  sunset,  —  the  Angelus, — and  this,  with  the 
whistle  of  the  herdsmen,  which  in  this  country  is  peculiarly  plaintive,  and 
the  “  sober  gray  ”  of  evening,  all  combined  to  fill  my  bosom  with  senti¬ 
ments  of  placid  contentment . 

I  consider  it  almost  fruitless  to  attempt  to  describe  the  Caldeiras  |tne 
Caldrons],  as  can  I  convey  no  adequate  idea  of  their  terrible  appearance. 
There  are  seven  principal  ones,  the  largest  about  twenty  feet  in  diameter. 
They  are  generally  circular,  but  differing  both  in  form  and  dimensions. 
They  boil  with  such  fervor  as  to  eject  the  water  to  the  height  of  twenty 
feet,  and  make  a  noise  like  distant  thunder . 

Grandfather’s  house  is  situated  in  the  centre  of  this  beautiful  valley.  It 
has  undergone  several  alterations  since  mother  was  here.  The  entrance 
is  through  a  long  avenue  of  shady  box-trees,  and  you  ascend  to  it  by  a 
flight  of  fifty  stone  steps.  Near  the  house  is  a  grove  which  was  not  even 
in  embryo  when  mother  was  here.  In  front  of  it  is  a  pond,  with  a 
small  island  in  the  middle,  connected  with  the  main  land  by  a  stone 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


GO 

bridge.  In  this  delightful  spot  I  had  some  of  the  happiest  hours  which  1 
have  spent  since  I  quitted  my  native  shores.  At  “Yankee  Hail”1 2  every 
one  is  sans  souci.  The  air  of  the  place  is  remarkably  propitious  both  to 
good  spirits  and  good  appetites.3 

In  my  walks  I  met  with  many  villagers  who  recollected  Donna  Cathe- 
rina,3and  who  testified  their  affection  for  her  son  in  such  hearty  embrassades 

as  I  am  not  quite  Portuguese  enough  to  relish . 

Adieu,  my  darling  sister  I  know  not  how  I  shall  be  able  to  send  yoa 
this  letter.  I  shall  probably  take  it  with  me  to  London,  where  opportuni¬ 
ties  will  be  much  more  frequent,  and  where  your  patience  will  be  much 
ol'tener  tried  by  your  sincerely  aficctiouate 

W 


TO  WILLIAM  II.  GARDINER. 

Poxta  Delgada,  St.  Michael’s,  March,  1816. 

I  am  fortunate,  my  dear  Will,  in  an  opportunity  of  addressing  you  from 
the  orange  bowers  of  St.  Michael’s,  and  of  acknowledging  the  receipt  of 
your  Gazettes,  with  their  budgets  scandalous  and  philosophical.  I  must 
pronounce  you,  my  friend,  the  optimus  editorum,  for,  in  the  language  of  the 
commentators,  you  have  not  left  a  single  desideratum  ungratified.  It  is 
impossible  to  be  too  minute.  To  one  absent  from  home  trifles  are  of  im¬ 
portance,  and  the  most  petty  occurrences  are  the  more  acceptable,  as  they 
transport  us  into  scenes  of  former  happiness,  and  engage  us  in  the  occupa¬ 
tions  of  those  in  whom  we  are  the  most  interested.  I  was  much  distressed 
by  the  death  of  my  two  friends.  R - ’s  I  had  anticipated,  but  the  cir¬ 

cumstances  which  attended  it  were  peculiarly  afflicting.  Few  I  belicv* 
have  spent  so  long  a  life  in  so  short  a  period.  He  certainly  had  much 
benevolence  of  disposition ;  but  there  was  something  uncongenial  in  his 
temper,  which  made  him  unpopular  with  the  mass  of  his  acquaintance. 
If,  however,  the  number  of  his  enemies  was  great,  that  of  his  virtues  ex¬ 
ceeded  them.  Those  of  us  who  shared  his  friendship  knew  how  to  appre¬ 
ciate  his  worth.4  P - .  with  less  steadiness  of  principle,  had  many  social 

qualities  which  endeared  him  to  his  friends.  The  sprightliness  of  his  fancy 
has  beguiled  us  of  many  an  hour,  and  the  vivacity  of  his  wit,  as  you  well 
know,  has  often  set  our  table  in  a  roar . 

Your  letters  contain  a  very  alarming  list  of  marriages  and  matches.  If 
the  mania  continues  much  longer,  I  shall  find  at  my  return  most  of  my 
fair  companions  converted  into  sober  matrons.  I  believe  I  had  better  adopt 
your  advice,  and,  to  execute  it  with  a  little  more  eclat,  persuade  some  kind 
nun  to  scale  the  walls  of  her  convent  with  me. 

Apropos  of  nunneries :  the  novelty  of  the  thing  has  induced  me  to  visit 
them  frequently,  but  I  find  that  they  answer  very  feebly  to  those  romantic 
notions  of  purity  and  simplicity  which  I  had  attached  to  them.  Almost 

1  The  name  of  the  large  house  his  grandfather  had  built  at  the  “  Caldei- 
ras,”  remembering  his  own  home. 

2  Elsewhere  he  calls  this  visit,  “  Elysium,  four  days.” 

8  His  mother’s  Christian  name. 

*  A  college  friend  of  great  promise  who  died  in  England  in  1815. 


AT  ST.  MICHAEL’S. 


37 


every  nun  lias  a  lover ;  that  is,  an  innamorato  who  visits  her  every  day, 
and  swears  as  many  oaths  of  constancy,  and  imprints  as  many  kisses  on  the 
grates  as  ever  Pyramus  and  Thisbe  did  on  the  unlucky  chink  which  sepa¬ 
rated  them.  I  was  invited  the  other  day  to  select  one  of  these  fair  penitents, 
but,  as  I  have  no  great  relish  for  such  a  —  correspondence,  I  declined  the 
politeness,  and  content  myself  willi  a  few  ogles  and  sighs  en  passant. 

It  is  an  interesting  employment  for  the  inhabitants  of  a  free  country, 
flourishing  under  the  influences  of  a  benign  religion,  to  contemplate  the 
degradation  to  which  human  nature  may  be  reduced  when  oppressed  by 
arbitrary  power  and  papal  .superstition.  My  observation  of  the  Portuguese 
character  has  half  inclined  me  to  credit  Mouboddo’s  theory,  and  consider 
the  inhabitants  in  that  stage  of  the  metamorphosis  when,  having  lost  the 
tails  of  monkeys,  they  .have  not  yet  acquired  the  brains  of  men.  In  me¬ 
chanical  improvements,  and  in  the  common  arts  and  conveniences  of  life, 
the  Portuguese  are  at  least  two  centuries  behind  the  English,  and  as  to 
literary  acquisitions,  if,  as  some  writers  have  pretended,  “  ignorance  is 
bliss,”  they  may  safely  claim  to  be  the  happiest  people  in  the  world. 

But,  if  animated  nature  is  so  debased,  the  beauties  of  the  inanimate  cre¬ 
ation  cannot  be  surpassed.  During  the  whole  year  we  have  the  unruffled 
serenity  of  June.  Such  is  the  temperature  of  the  climate,  that,  although 
but  a  few  degrees  south  of  Boston,  most  tropical  plants  will  flourish  ;  and 
6uch  is  the  extreme  salubrity,  that  nothing  venomous  can  exist.  These 
islands,  however,  abound  in  volcanic  phenomena.  I  have  seen  whole  fields 
covered  with  lava,  and  most  of  the  mountains  still  retain  the  vestiges  of 
craters.  I  have,  too,  had  the  pleasure  of  experiencing  an  earthquake, 
which  shook  down  a  good  number  of  houses,  and  I  hope  I  shall  not  soon 
be  gratified  with  a  similar  exhibition. 

But  the  most  wonderful  of  the  natural  curiosities  are  the  hot  wells,  which 
are  very  numerous,  and  of  which  it  would  be  impossible  to  give  you  an 
adequate  conception.  The  fertility  of  the  soil  is  so  great,  that  they  gen¬ 
erally  obtain  two  crops  in  a  year,  and  now,  while  you  are  looking  wofully 
out  of  the  window  waiting  for  the  last  stroke  of  the  bell  before  you  en¬ 
counter  the  terrific  snow-banks  which  threaten  you,  with  us  the  myrtle,  the 
rose,  the  pomegranate,  the  lemon  and  orange  groves  are  in  perfection,  and 
the  whole  country  glowing  in  full  bloom.  Indeed,  there  is  everything 
which  can  catch  the  poet’s  eye,  but  you  know,  Sine  Venere,  friget  Apollo, 
and,  until  some  Azorian  nymph  shall  warm  my  heart  into  love,  the  beau- 
tios  of  nature  will  hardly  warm  my  imagination  into  poesy. 

I  must  confess,  however,  that  friendship  induced  me  to  make  an  effort 
this  way.  I  have  been  confined  to  my  chamber  for  some  time  by  an  indis¬ 
position  ;  and  while  in  duress  I  commenced  a  poetical  effusion  to  you,  and 
had  actually  completed  a  page,  when,  recovering  my  liberty,  there  were  so 
many  strange  objects  to  attract  the  attention,  and  I  thought  it  so  much  less 
trouble  to  manufacture  bad  prose  than  bad  poetry,  that  I  dismounted  from 
Pegasus,  whom,  by  the  by,  I  found  a  confounded  hard  trotter.  Now,  as 
you  are  professedly  one  of  the  genus  irritabile,  I  think  you  cannot  employ 
your  leisure  better  than  in  serving  me  an  Horatian  dish  secundum  artem. 
Give  my  warmest  affection  to  your  father,  mother,  and  sisters,  and  be 
assured,  my  dear  Will,  whether  rhyme  or  reason,  your  epistles  will  ever 
confer  the  highest  gratification  on  your  friend, 


Wat.  II.  Pkescott 


38 


WILLIAM  IlICKLING  PKESCOfT. 


TO  HIS  FATHER  AND  MOTHER. 

St.  Michael’s,  March  16,  1816. 

I  cannot  regret,  my  beloved  parents,  that  the  opportunities  of  writing 
have  not  been  more  frequent;  for,  although  it  would  be  cruel  to  inform 
you  of  distresses,  while  actually  existing,  which  it  was  not  in  your  power 
to  alleviate,  yet  it  is  so  soothing  to  the  mind  to  communicate  its  griefs,  that 
I  doubt  if  I  could  refrain  from  it. 

The  windows  in  Rosto  de  Cao  are  constructed  on  much  the  same  prin¬ 
ciple  as  our  barn-doors.  Their  uncharitable  quantity  of  light  and  a  slight 
cold  increased  the  inflammation  with  which  I  landed  to  such  a  degree, 
that,  as  I  could  not  soften  the  light  by  means  of  blinds,  which  are  unknown 
here,  I  was  obliged  to  exclude  it  altogether  by  closing  the  shutters.  The 
same  cause  retarded  my  recovery ;  for,  as  the  sun  introduced  himself  sans 
c&emonie  whenever  I  attempted  to  admit  the  light,  I  was  obliged  to  remain 
in  darkness  until  we  removed  to  the  city,  where  I  was  accommodated  with 
a  room  which  had  a  northern  aspect,  and,  by  means  of  different  thicknesses 
of  baize  nailed  to  the  windows,  I  was  again  restored  to  the  cheering  beams 
of  heaven.  This  confinement  lasted  from  the  1st  of  November  to  the  1st 
of  February,  and  during  six  weeks  of  it  I  was  in  such  total  darkness  it  was 
impossible  to  distinguish  objects  in  the  room.  Much  of  this  time  has  been 
beguiled  of  its  tediousness  by  the  attentions  of  A - and  H - ,  particu¬ 

larly  the  latter,  who  is  a  charming  creature,  and  whom  I  regard  as  a  second 
sister. 

I  have  had  an  abundance  of  good  prescriptions.  Grandfather  has  strongly 
urged  old  Madeira  as  a  universal  nostrum,  and  my  good  uncle  the  doctor 
no  less  strenuously  recommended  beef-steak.  I  took  their  advice,  for  it 
cost  me  nothing ;  but,  as  following  it  cost  me  rather  too  dear,  I  adhered 
with  Chinese  obstinacy  to  bread  and  milk,  hasty  pudding,  and  gruel.  This 
diet  and  the  application  of  blisters  was  the  only  method  I  adopted  to  pre¬ 
serve  my  eye  from  inflammation. 

I  have  not  often,  my  dear  parents,  experienced  depression  of  spirits,  and 
there  have  been  but  few  days  in  which  I  could  not  solace  my  sorrows  with 
a  song.  I  preserved  my  health  by  walking  on  the  piazza  with  a  handker¬ 
chief  tied  over  a  pair  of  goggles,  which  were  presented  to  me  by  a  gentle¬ 
man  here,  and  by  walking  some  hundreds  of  miles  in  my  room,  so  that  1 
emerged  from  my  dungeon,  not  with  the  emaciated  figure  of  a  prisoner, 
but  in  the  florid  bloom  of  a  bon  vivant.  Indeed,  everything  has  been  done 
which  could  promote  my  health  and  happiness ;  but  darkness  has  few 
charms  for  those  in  health,  and  a  long  confinement  must  exhaust  the 
patience  of  all  but  those  who  are  immediately  interested  in  us.  A  person 
situated  as  I  have  been  can  be  really  happy  nowhere  but  at  home,  for 
where  but  at  home  can  he  experience  the  affectionate  solicitude  of  parents. 
But  the  gloom  is  now  dissipated,  and  my  eyes  have  nearly  recovered  their 
former  vigor.  I  am  under  no  apprehension  of  a  relapse,  as  I  shall  soon 
be  wafted  to  a  land  where  the  windows  are  of  Christian  dimensions,  and 
the  medical  advice  such  as  may  be  relied  upon. 

The  most  unpleasant  of  my  reflections  suggested  by  this  late  inflamma¬ 
tion  are  those  arising  from  the  probable  necessity  of  abandoning  a  profes- 


LETTER  TO  HIS  FATHER  AND  MOTHER. 


39 


sion  congenial  with  my  taste,  and  recommended  by  such  favorable  oppor¬ 
tunities,  and  adopting  one  for  which  I  am  ill  qualified,  and  have  but  little 
inclination.  It  is  some  consolation,  however,  that  this  latter  alternative, 
should  my  eyes  permit,  will  afford  me  more  leisure  for  the  pursuit  of  my 
favorite  studies.  But  on  this  subject  I  shall  consult  my  physician,  and 
will  write  you  his  opinion.  My  mind  has  not  been  wholly  stagnant  dur¬ 
ing  my  residence  here.  By  means  of  the  bright  eyes  of  H - I  have 

read  part  of  Scott,  Shakespeare,  Travels  through  England  and  Scotland. 

the  Iliad,  and  the  Odyssey.  A - has  read  some  of  the  Grecian  and 

Koman  histories,  and  I  have  cheated  many  a  moment  of  its  tedium  by 
composition,  which  was  soon  banished  from  my  mind  for  want  of  aa 
amanuensis. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


1  SI  6 


utAVKs  St.  Michael’s. — Arrives  in  London.  —  Privations  therh. 
—  Pleasures.  —  Goes  to  Paris.  —  Goes  to  Italy.  —  Returns  to 
Paris. —  Illness  there.  —  Goes  again  to  London.  —  Travels  lit¬ 
tle  in  England. —  Determines  to  return  Home.  —  Letter  to  W. 
H.  Gardiner. 


IS  relations  to  the  family  of  his  venerable  grandfather 


JLJL  at  St.  Michael's,  as  the  preceding  letters  show,  were  of 
the  most  agreeable  kind,  and  the  effect  produced  by  his  charac¬ 
ter  on  all  its  members,  old  and  young,  was  the  same  that  it 
produced  on  everybody.  They  all  loved  him.  His  grand¬ 
mother,  with  whom,  from  the  difference  of  their  languages,  he 
could  have  had  a  less  free  intercourse  than  with  the  rest,  wept 
bitterly  when  he  left  them ;  and  his  patriarchal  grandfather, 
who  had,  during  his  long  life,  been  called  to  give  up  several  of 
his  house  to  the  claims  of  the  world,  pressed  him  often  in  his 
arms  on  the  beach,  and,  as  the  tears  rolled  down  his  aged 
cheeks,  cried  out,  in  the  bitterness  of  his  heart,  “  God  knows,  it 
never  cost  me  more  to  part  from  any  of  my  own  children.” 

On  the  8th  of  April,  1816,  he  embarked  for  London.  His 
acute  rheumatism  and  the  consequent  inflammation  in  his  eye 
recurred  almost  of  course,  from  the  exposures  incident  to  a  sea 
life  with  few  even  of  the  usual  allowances  of  sea  comforts. 
He  was,  therefore,  heartily  glad  when,  after  a  passage  pro¬ 
longed  to  four  and  twenty  days,  two  and  twenty  of  which  he 
had  been  confined  to  his  state-room,  and  kept  on  the  most 
meagre  fare,  his  suffering  eye  rested  on  the  green  fields  of  old 
England. 

In  London  he  placed  himself  in  the  hands  of  Dr.  Farre ;  of 
Mr.  Cooper,  afterwards  Sir  Astley  Cooper  ;  and  of  Sir  William 
Adams,  the  oculist.  He  could  not,  perhaps,  have  done  better. 
But  his  case  admitted  of  no  remedy  and  few  alleviations  ;  for 


VISITS  ENGLAND. 


41 


it  was  ascertained,  at  once,  that  the  eye  originally  injured  was 
completely  paralyzed,  and  that  for  the  other  little  could  be 
done  except  to  add  to  its  strength  by  strengthening  the  whole 
physical  system.  He  followed,  however,  as  lie  almost  always 
did,  even  when  his  hopes  were  the  faintest,  all  the  prescriptions 
that  were  given  him,  and  submitted  conscientiously  to  the  pri¬ 
vations  that  were  imposed.  He  saw  few  persons  that  could 
much  interest  him,  because  evening  society  was  forbidden,  and 
he  went  to  public  places  and  exhibitions  rarely,  and  to  the 
theatre  never,  although  he  was  sorely  tempted  by  the  farewell 
London  performances  of  Mrs.  Siddons  and  Mr.  John  Kemble. 
A  friend  begged  him  to  use  an  excellent  library  as  if  it  were 
his  own  ;  “  but,”  he  wrote  to  his  father  and  mother,  “  when  I 
look  into  a  Greek  or  Latin  book,  I  experience  much  the  same 
sensation  one  does  who  looks  on  the  face  of  a  dead  friend,  and 
the  tears  not  infrequently  steal  into  my  eyes.”  He  made  a 
single  excursion  from  London.  It  was  to  Richmond ;  visiting 
at  the  same  time  Slough,  where  he  saw  Herseliel’s  telescopes, 
Eton,  Windsor,  and  Hampton  Court,  —  all  with  Mr.  John 
Quincy  Adams,  then  our  Minister  at  the  Court  of  St.  James. 
It  was  an  excursion  which  he  mentions  with  great  pleasure  in 
one  of  his  letters.  He  could,  indeed,  hardly  have  made  it 
more  agreeably  or  more  profitably.  But  this  was  his  only 
pleasure  of  the  sort. 

A  fresh  and  eager  spirit,  however,  like  his,  could  not  stand 
amidst  the  resources  of  a  metropolis  so  magnificent  as  London 
without  recognizing  their  power.  Enjoyments,  therefore,  he 
certainly  had,  and,  if  they  were  rare,  they  were  high.  Noth¬ 
ing  in  the  way  of  art  struck  him  so  much  as  the  Elgin  Mar¬ 
bles  and  the  Cartoons  of  Raphael.  Of  the  first,  which  he 
visited  as  often  as  he  dared  to  do  so,  he  says,  “  There  are  few 
living  beings  in  whose  society  I  have  experienced  so  much  real 
pleasure,”  and  of  the  last,  that  “  they  pleased  him  a  great  deal 
more  than  the  Stafford  collection.”  It  may,  as  it  seems  to  me, 
be  fairly  accounted  remarkable,  that  one  whose  taste  in  sculp¬ 
ture  and  painting  could  not  have  been  cultivated  at  home 
should  at  once  have  felt  the  supremacy  of  those  great  works 
of  ancient  and  modern  art,  then  much  less  acknowledged 
than  it  is  now,  and  even  yet,  perhaps,  not  so  fully  confessed 
as  it  wTill  be. 


42 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PEESCOTT. 


He  went  frequently  to  the  public  libraries  and  to  the  princi¬ 
pal  booksellers’  shops,  full  of  precious  editions  of  the  classics 
which  he  had  found  it  so  difficult  to  obtain  in  his  own  country, 
and  which  he  so  much  coveted  now.  But  of  everything  con¬ 
nected  with  books  his  enjoyment  was  necessarily  imperfect. 
At  this  period  he  rarely  opened  them.  He  purchased  a  few, 
however,  trusting  to  the  future,  as  he  always  did. 

Early  in  August  he  went  over  to  Paris,  and  remained  there, 
or  in  its  neighborhood,  until  October.  But  Paris  could  hardly 
be  enjoyed  by  him  so  much  as  London,  where  his  mother 
tongue  made  everything  seem  familiar  in  a  way  that  nothing 
else  can.  He  saw,  indeed,  a  good  deal  of  what  is  external ; 
although,  even  in  this,  he  was  checked  by  care  for  his  eye,  and 
by  at  least  one  decided  access  of  inflammation.  Anything,  how¬ 
ever,  beyond  the  most  imperfect  view  of  what  he  visited  was 
out  of  the  question. 

The  following  winter,  which  he  passed  in  Italy,  was  proba¬ 
bly  beneficial  to  Ins  health,  so  far  as  his  implacable  enemy,  the 
rheumatism,  was  concerned,  and  certainly  it  was  full  of  enjoy¬ 
ment.  He  travelled  with  his  old  schoolfellow  and  friend,  Mr. 
John  Cbipman  Gray,  who  did  much  to  make  the  journey  pleas¬ 
ant  to  him.  After  leaving  Paris,  they  first  stopped  a  day  at  La 
Grange  to  pay  their  respects  to  General  Lafayette,  and  then 
went  by  Lyons,  the  Mont  Cenis,  Turin,  Genoa,  Milan,  Venice, 
Bologna,  and  Florence  to  Rome.  In  Rome  they  remained 
about  six  weeks  ;  after  which,  giving  a  month  to  Naples,  they 
returned  through  Rome  to  Florence,  and,  embarking  at  Leg¬ 
horn  for  Marseilles,  made  a  short  visit  to  Nismes,  not  forget¬ 
ting  Avignon  and  Vaucluse,  and  then  hastened  by  Fontaine¬ 
bleau  to  Paris,  where  they  arrived  on  the  30th  of  March.  It 
was  the  customary  route,  and  the  young  travellers  saw  what  all 
travellers  see,  neither  more  nor  less,  and  enjoyed  it  as  all  do 
who  have  cultivation  like  theirs  and  good  taste.  In  a  letter 
written  to  me  the  next  year,  when  I  was  myself  in  Italy,  he 
6peaks  with  great  interest  of  his  visit  there,  and  seems  to  regret 
Naples  more  than  any  other  portion  of  that  charming  country. 
But  twenty  and  also  forty  years  later,  when  I  was  again  in 
Italy,  his  letters  to  me  were  full,  not  of  Naples,  but  of  Rome. 
*  Rome  is  the  place,”  he  said,  “  that  lingers  longest,  I  suppose, 


TRAVELS  IN  ITALY. 


43 


in  everybody’s  recollection  ;  at  least,  it  is  the  brightest  of  all  I 
saw  in  Europe.”  This  was  natural.  It  was  the  result  of  the 
different  vistas  through  which,  at  widely  different  periods  of  his 
life,  he  looked  back  upon  what  he  had  so  much  enjoyed. 

One  thing,  however,  in  relation  to  his  Italian  journeyings, 
though  not  remarkable  at  the  time,  appears  singular  now, 
when  it  is  seen  in  the  light  of  his  subsequent  career.  He 
passed  over  the  battle-fields  of  Gonsalvo  de  Cordova,  and  all 
that  made  the  Spanish  arms  in  Italy  so  illustrious  in  the  time 
of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  without  a  remark,  and,  I  suppose, 
without  a  thought.  But,  as  he  often  said  afterwards,  and, 
indeed,  more  than  once  wrote  to  me,  he  was  then  fresh  from 
the  classical  studies  he  so  much  loved ;  Horace  and  Livy,  I 
know,  were  suspended  in  the  net  of  his  travelling-carriage  ; 
and  he  thought  more,  I  doubt  not,  of  Caesar  and  Cicero,  Virgil 
and  Tacitus,  than  of  all  the  moderns  put  together. 

Indeed,  the  moderns  were,  in  one  sense,  beyond  his  reach. 
He  was  unable  to  give  any  of  his  time  to  the  language  or  the 
literature  of  Italy,  so  wholly  were  his  eyes  unfitted  for  use. 
But  he  was  content  with  what  his  condition  permitted ;  —  to 
walk  about  among  the  ruins  of  earlier  ages,  and  occasionally 
look  up  a  passage  in  an  ancient  classic  to  explain  or  illustrate 
them.  The  genius  loci  was  at  his  side  wherever  he  went,  and 
showed  him  things  invisible  to  mortal  sight.  As  he  said  in  one 
of  his  letters  to  me,  it  was  to  him  “  all  a  sacred  land,”  and 
the  mighty  men  of  old  stood  before  him  in  the  place  of  the 
living. 

A  few  days  after  he  reached  Paris,  April  7,  I  arrived  there 
from  Germany,  where  I  had  been  passing  nearly  two  years ; 
and,  as  we  both  had  accidentally  the  same  banker,  our  lodgings 
had  been  engaged  for  us  at  the  same  hotel.  In  this  way  he 
was  one  of  the  very  first  persons  I  saw  when  I  alighted.  His 
parlor,  I  found,  was  darkened,  and  his  eye  was  still  too  sensi¬ 
tive  for  any  healthy  use  of  it ;  but  his  spirits  were  light,  and 
liis  enthusiasm  about  his  Italian  journey  was  quite  contagious. 
We  walked  a  little  round  the  city  together,  and  dined  that  day 
with  our  hospitable  banker  very  gayly.  But  this  was  the  last 
of  his  pleasures  in  Paris.  When  we  reached  our  hotel,  he 
complained  of  feeling  unwell,  and  I  was  so  much  alarmed  by 


44 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


the  state  of  lhs  pulse  that  I  went  personally  for  liis  physician, 
and  brought  lain  back  with  me,  fearing,  as  it  was  already  late 
at  night,  that  there  might  otherwise  be  some  untoward  delay. 
The  result  showed  that  I  had  not  been  unreasonably  anxious. 
The  most  active  treatment  was  instantly  adopted,  and  absolute 
quiet  prescribed.  I  watched  with  him  that  night ;  and,  as  I 
had  yet  made  no  acquaintances  in  Paris,  and  felt  no  interest 
there,  so  strong  as  my  interest  in  him,  I  shut  myself  up  with 
him,  and  thought  little  of  what  was  outside  the  walls  of  our 
hotel  till  he  was  better. 

I  was,  in  fact,  much  alarmed.  Nor  was  he  insensible  to  his 
position,  wliich  the  severity  of  the  remedies  administered  left 
no  doubt  was  a  critical  one.  But  he  maintained  his  composure 
throughout,  begging  me,  however,  not  to  tell  him  that  his 
illness  was  dangerous  unless  I  should  think  it  indispensable  to 
do  so.  In  three  or  four  days  my  apprehensions  were  relieved. 
In  eight  or  ten  more,  during  which  I  was  much  with  him,  he 
was  able  to  go  out,  and  in  another  week  he  was  restored.  But 
it  was  in  that  dark  room  that  I  first  learned  to  know  him  as  I 
have  never  known  any  other  person  beyond  the  limits  of  my 
immediate  family ;  and  it  was  there  that  was  lust  formed  a 
mutual  regard  over  which,  to  the  day  of  his  death,  —  a  period 
of  above  forty  years,  —  no  cloud  ever  passed. 

In  the  middle  of  May,  after  making  a  pleasant  visit  of  a 
week  to  Mr.  Daniel  Parker  1  at  Draveil,  he  left  Paris,  and 
went,  by  the  way  of  Brighton,  to  London,  where  he  remained 
about  six  weeks,  visiting  anew,  so  far  as  his  infirmities  would 
permit,  what  was  most  interesting  to  him,  and  listening  more 
than  he  had  done  before  to  debates  in  the  House  of  Lords  and 
the  House  of  Commons.  But  the  country  gave  him  more 
pleasure  than  the  city.  His  eyes  suffered  less  there,  and, 
besides,  he  was  always  sensible  to  what  is  beautiful  in  nature. 
Two  excursions  that  he  made  gratified  him  very  much.  One 

1  Mr.  Parker  was  an  American  gentleman,  who  lived  very  pleasantly  on  a 
fine  estate  at  Draveil,  near  Paris.  Mr.  Prescott  was  more  than  once  at  his 
hospitable  chateau,  and  enjoyed  his  visits  there  much.  It  was  there  he  first 
became  acquainted  with  Mr.  Charles  King,  subsequently  distinguished  in 
political  life  and  as  the  President  of  Columbia  College,  who,  after  the  death 
of  the  historian,  pronounced  a  just  and  beautiful  eulogium  on  him  before  the 
New-York  Historical  Society,  Feb.  1st,  1869. 


IN  ENGLAND. 


45 


was  to  Oxford,  Blenheim,  and  the  Wye ;  in  which  the  Gothie 
architecture  of  New-College  Chapel  and  the  graceful  ruins  of 
Tintern  Abbey,  with  the  valley  in  which  they  stand,  most 
attracted  his  admiration,  the  last  “  surpassing,”  as  he  said, 
“  anything  of  the  sort  he  had  ever  seen.”  He  came  back  by 
Salisbury,  and  then  almost  immediately  went  to  Cambridge, 
where  he  was  more  interested  by  the  manuscripts  of  Milton 
and  Newton  than  by  anything  else,  unless,  perhaps,  it  were 
King’s  College  Chapel.  But,  after  all,  this  visit  to  England 
was  very  unsatisfactory.  He  spoke  to  me  in  one  of  his  letters 
of  being  “  invigorated  by  the  rational  atmosphere  of  London,” 
in  comparison  with  his  life  on  the  Continent.  But  still  the 
state  of  his  eyes,  and  even  of  his  general  health,  deprived  him 
of  many  enjoyments  which  his  visit  would  otherwise  have 
afforded  him.  He  was,  therefore,  well  pleased  to  turn  his  face 
towards  the  comforts  of  home. 

Of  all  this,  pleasant  intimations  may  be  found  in  the  follow¬ 
ing  letter  to  liis  friend  Gardiner :  — 

London,  29th  May,  1817. 

I  never  felt  in  my  life  more  inclined  to  scold  any  one,  my  dear  Gardi¬ 
ner,  than  I  do  to  scold  you  at  present,  and  I  should  not  let  you  off  so  ea 
sily  but  that  my  return  will  prevent  the  benefits  of  a  reformation.  You 
have  ere  this  received  a  folio  of  hieroglyphics  which  I  transmitted  to  you 
from  Home.2  To  read  them,  I  am  aware,  is  impossible ;  for,  as  I  was 
folding  them  up,  I  had  occasion  to  refer  to  something,  and  found  myself 
utterly  unable  to  decipher  my  own  writing.  I  preferred,  however,  to  send 
them,  for,  although  unintelligible,  they  would  at  least  be  a  substantial 
evidence  to  my  friend  that  I  had  not  forgotten  him.  As  you  probably 
have  been  made  acquainted  with  my  route  by  my  family,  I  shall  not 
trouble  you  with  the  details. 

Notwithstanding  the  many  and  various  objects  which  Italy  possesses, 
they  are  accompanied  with  so  many  desagrtfmens,  —  poor  inns,  worse  roads, 
and,  above  all,  the  mean  spirit  and  dishonesty  of  its  inhabitants,  —  that 
we  could  not  regret  the  termination  of  our  tour.  I  was  disappointed  in 
France,  that  is  to  say,  the  country.  That  part  of  it  which  I  have  seen, 
excepting  Marseilles,  Nismes,  Avignon,  and  Lyons,  possesses  few  beau¬ 
ties  of  nature,  and  little  that  is  curious  or  worthy  of  remark.  Paris  is 
everything  in  France.  It  is  certainly  unique.  With  a  great  parade  of 
science  and  literary  institutions,  it  unites  a  constant  succession  of  frivolities 
and  public  amusements.  I  was  pleased  as  long  as  the  novelty  lasted,  and 
satiated  in  less  than  two  months.  The  most  cheerful  mind  must  become 
dull  amidst  unintermitted  gayety  and  dissipation,  unless  it  is  constructed 
upon  a  French  anatomy. 

2  Written  with  his  noctograph. 


46 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


I  left - in  a  retired  part  of  the  city,  diligently  occupied  with  the 

transition  of  the  Roman  language  into  the  Italian,  and  with  the  ancient 
French  Provencal  dialect.  There  are  some  men  who  can  unravel  prob¬ 
lems  in  the  midst  of  a  ball-room.  In  the  fall - goes  down  to  Italy. 

I  have  now  been  a  fortnight  in  London.  Its  sea-coal  atmosphere  is 
extremely  favorable  to  my  health.  I  am  convinced,  however,  that  travel¬ 
ling  is  pernicious,  and,  instead  of  making  the  long  tour  of  Scotland,  shall 
content  myself  with  excursions  to  the  principal  counties  and  manufactur¬ 
ing  towns  in  England.  In  a  couple  of  months  I  hope  to  embark,  and 
shall  soon  have  the  pleasure  of  recapitulating  with  you,  my  friend,  my 
perils  and  experiences,  and  treading  in  retrospection  the  classic  ground  of 
Italy.  I  sincerely  hope  you  may  one  day  visit  a  country  which  contains 

so  much  that  is  interesting  to  any  man  of  liberal  education . 

I  anticipate  with  great  pleasure  the  restoration  to  my  friends ;  to  those 
domestic  and  social  enjoyments  which  are  little  known  in  the  great  capi¬ 
tals  of  Europe.  Pray  give  my  wannest  regards  to  your  father,  mothei, 
and  sisters,  and  n’oubliez  jamais 

Your  sincerely  affectionate 

Wm.  H.  Prescott- 


CHAPTER  V, 


1817-1824. 


Return  from  England.  —  Rheumatism.  —  First  Literary  Adven¬ 
ture.  —  Decides  not  to  be  a  Lawyer.  —  Falls  in  Love.  —  Mar¬ 
ries.  —  Continues  to  live  with  his  Father.  —  Swords  of  his 
Grandfather  and  of  the  Grandfather  of  his  Wife. —  His  Per¬ 
sonal  Appearance.  —  Club  of  Friends.  —  The  “Club-Room.”  — 
Determines  to  become  a  Man  of  Letters.  —  Obstacles  in  his 
Way.  —  Efforts  to  overcome  them.  —  English  Studies.  —  French. 
—  Italian.  —  Opinion  of  Petrarch  and  of  Dante.  —  Further 
Studies  proposed.  —  Despairs  of  learning  German. 

E  embarked  from  England  for  home  at  midsummer,  and 


arrived  before  the  heats  of  our  hot  season  were  over.  His 


affectionate  mother  had  arranged  everything  for  his  reception  that 
could  insure  the  rest  he  needed,  and  the  alleviations  which,  for  an 
invalid  such  as  he  was,  can  never  be  found  except  in  the  bosom 
of  his  family.  Fresh  paper  and  paint  were  put  on  his  own 
room,  and  everything  external  was  made  bright  and  cheerful  to 
welcome  his  return.  But  it  was  all  a  mistake.  His  eye,  to 
the  great  disappointment  of  his  friends,  had  not  been  strength¬ 
ened  during  his  absence,  and  could  ill  bear  the  colors  that  had 
been  provided  to  cheer  him.  The  white  paint  was,  therefore, 
forthwith  changed  to  gray,  and  the  walls  and  carpet  became 
green.  But  neither  was  this  thought  enough.  A  charming 
country-house  was  procured,  since  Nature  furnishes  truer  car¬ 
pets  and  hangings  than  the  upholsterer ;  but  the  house  was 
damp  from  its  cool  position,  and  from  the  many  trees  that  sur¬ 
rounded  it.1  His  old  enemy,  the  rheumatism,  therefore,  set  in 
with  renewed  force ;  and  in  three  days,  just  as  his  father  was 
driving  out  to  dine,  tor  the  first  time,  in  their  rural  home,  he 
met  them  all  hurrying  back  to  the  house  in  town,  where  they 
remained  nearly  two  years,  finding  it  better  for  the  invalid  than 

1  This  account  is  taken  from  the  memoranda  of  his  sister,  Mrs.  Dexter, 
whose  graceful  words  I  have  sometimes  used  both  here  and  elsewhere  in  the 
next  few  pages. 


48 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


any  other.  It  was  a  large,  comfortable  old  mansion  in  Bedford 
Street,  and  stood  where  the  Second  Congregational  Church  now 
stands. 

The  winter  of  1817  —  18  he  passed  wholly  at  home.  As  he 
wrote  to  me,  his  “eyes  made  him  a  very  domestic,  retired  man.” 
He  avoided  strong  light  as  much  as  he  could ;  and,  extravagantly 
as  he  loved  society,  indulged  himself  in  it  not  at  all,  because  he 
found,  or  rather  because  he  thought  he  found,  its  excitements  in¬ 
jurious  to  him.  But  his  old  schoolfellow  and  friend  Gardiner, 
who  was  then  a  student-at-law  in  the  elder  Mr.  Prescott’s  office, 
read  some  of  his  favorite  classics  with  him  a  part  of  each  day ; 
and  his  sister,  three  years  younger  than  he  was,  shut  herself  up 
with  him  the  rest  of  it,  in  the  most  devoted  and  affectionate  man¬ 
ner,  reading  to  him  sometimes  six  or  even  eight  hours  consecu¬ 
tively.  On  these  occasions  he  used  to  place  himself  in  the  corner 
of  the  room,  with  his  face  to  the  angle  made  by  the  walls,  and  his 
back  to  the  light.  Adjusted  thus,  they  read  history  and  poetry, 
often  very  far  into  the  night,  and,  although  the  reader,  as  she 
tells  me,  sometimes  dozed,  he  never  did.  It  was  a  great  enjoy¬ 
ment  to  them  both,  —  to  her,  one  of  the  greatest  of  her  life ; 
but  it  was  found  too  much  for  her  strength,  and  the  father  and 
mother  interfered  to  restrain  and  regulate  what  was  unreason¬ 
able  in  the  indulgence. 

It  was  during  this  period  that  he  made  his  first  literary  ad¬ 
venture.  The  North- American  Review  had  then  been  in  exist¬ 
ence  two  or  three  years,  and  was  already  an  extremely  respect¬ 
able  journal,  with  which  some  of  his  friends  were  connected. 
It  offered  a  tempting  opportunity  for  the  exercise  of  his  powers, 
and  he  prepared  an  article  for  it.  The  project  was  a  deep 
secret ;  and  when  the  article  was  finished,  it  was  given  to  his 
much  trusted  sister  to  copy.  He  felt,  she  thinks,  some  misgiv¬ 
ings,  but  on  the  whole  looked  with  favor  on  his  first-born.  It 
was  sent  anonymously  to  the  club  of  gentlemen  who  then  man¬ 
aged  the  Review,  and  nothing  was  heard  in  reply  for  a  week  or 
more.  The  two  who  were  in  the  secret  began,  therefore,  to 
consider  their  venture  safe,  and  the  dignity  of  authorship,  his 
sister  says,  seemed  to  be  creeping  over  him,  when  one  day  he 
brought  back  the  article  to  her,  saying  :  “  There  !  it  is  good  for 
nothing.  They  refuse  it.  I  was  a  fool  to  send  it.”  The  sister 


DECIDES  NOT  TO  BE  A  LAWYER. 


49 


was  offended.  Bat  he  was  not.  He  only  cautioned  her  not  to 
tell  of  his  failure. 

He  was  now  nearly  twenty-two  years  old,  and  it  was  time  to 
consider  what  should  be  his  course  in  life.  So  far  as  the  pro¬ 
fession  of  the  law  was  concerned,  this  question  had  been  sub¬ 
stantially  settled  by  circumstances  over  which  he  had  no  con¬ 
trol.  His  earliest  misgivings  on  the  subject  seemed  to  have 
occurred  during  his  long  and  painful  confinement  at  St.  Mi¬ 
chael's,  and  may  be  found  in  a  letter,  before  inserted,  which 
was  written  March  15th,  1816. 

A  little  later,  after  consulting  eminent  members  of  the  medi¬ 
cal  profession  in  London,  he  wrote  more  decisively  and  more 
despondingly :  “  As  to  the  future,  it  is  too  evident  I  shall  never 
be  able  to  pursue  a  profession.  God  knows  how  poorly  I  am 
qualified,  and  how  little  inclined,  to  be  a  merchant.  Indeed,  I 
am  sadly  puzzled  to  think  how  I  shall  succeed  even  in  this 
without  eyes,  and  am  afraid  I  shall  never  be  able  to  draw  upon 
my  mind  to  any  large  amount,”  —  a  singular  prophecy,  when  we 
consider  that  his  subsequent  life  for  nearly  forty  years  was  a 
persistent  contradiction  of  it. 

After  his  return  home  this  important  question  became,  of 
course,  still  more  pressing,  and  was  debated  in  the  family  with 
constantly  increasing  anxiety.  At  the  same  time  he  began  to 
doubt  whether  the  purely  domestic  life  he  was  leading  was  the 
best  for  him.  The  experiment  of  a  year’s  seclusion,  he  was 
satisfied,  and  so  were  his  medical  advisers,  had  resulted  in  no 
improvement  to  his  sight,  and  promised  nothing  for  the  future 
if  it  should  be  continued.  He  began,  therefore,  to  go  abroad, 
gradually  and  cautiously  at  first,  but  afterwards  freely.  No 
harm  followed,  and  from  this  time,  except  during  periods  when 
there  was  some  especial  inflammation  of  the  eye,  he  always 
mingled  freely  in  a  wide  range  of  society,  giving  and  receiving 
great  pleasure. 

The  consequence  followed  that  might  have  been  anticipated 
from  a  nature  at  once  so  susceptible  and  so  attractive.  He  soon 
found  one  to  whom  he  was  glad  to  intrust  the  happiness  of  his 
life.  Nor  was  he  disappointed  in  his  hopes  ;  for,  if  there  was 
ever  a  devoted  wife,  or  a  tender  and  grateful  husband,  they 
were  to  be  found  in  the  home  which  this  union  made  happy. 


5U 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


As  he  said  in  a  letter  long  afterwards,  “  Contrary  to  the  asser 
tion  of  La  Bruyere,  —  who  somewhere  says,  that  the  most 
fortunate  husband  finds  reason  to  regret  Ms  condition  at  least 
once  in  twenty-four  hours,  —  I  may  truly  say  that  I  have  found 
no  such  day  in  the  quarter  of  a  century  that  Providence  has 
spared  us  to  each  other.”  And  so  it  continued  to  the  last.  I 
am  sure  that  none  who  knew  them  will  think  me  mistaken. 
The  lady  was  Susan,  daughter  of  Thomas  C.  Amory,  Esq.,  a 
successful  and  cultivated  merchant,  who  died  in  1812,  and  of 
Hannah  Liuzee,  his  wife,  who  survived  him,  enjoying  the  great 
happiness  of  her  child,  until  1845. 

In  the  summer  of  1819  I  returned  from  Europe,  after  an 
absence  of  more  than  four  years.  The  first  friends  who  wel¬ 
comed  me  in  my  home,  on  the  day  of  my  arrival,  were  the 
Prescott  family ;  and  the  first  house  I  visited  was  theirs,  in 
which  from  that  day  I  was  always  received  as  if  I  were  of 
their  kin  and  blood.  William  was  then  in  the  freshest  How 

O 

of  a  young  happiness  which  it  was  delightful  to  witness,  and 
of  which  he  thought  for  some  months  much  more  than  he  did 
of  anything  else.  I  saw  him  constantly  ;  but  it  was  apparent 
that,  although  he  read  a  good  deal,  or  rather  listened  to  a  good 
deal  of  reading,  he  studied  very  little,  or  not  at  all.  Real  work 
was  out  of  the  question.  He  was  much  too  happy  for  it. 

On  the  evening  of  the  4th  of  May,  1820,  which  was  his 
twenty-fourth  birthday,  he  was  married  at  the  house  of  Mrs. 
Amory,  in  Franklin  Place.  It  was  a  wedding  with  a  supper, 
in  the  old-fashioned  style,  somewhat  solemn  and  stately  at  first ; 
many  elderly  people  being  of  the  party,  and  especially  an  aged 
grandmother  of  the  bride,  whose  presence  enforced  something 
of  formality.  But  later  in  the  evening  our  gayety  was  free 
in  proportion  to  the  restraints  that  had  previously  been  laid 
upon  it.2 

The  young  couple  went  immediately  to  the  house  of  the 
Prescott  family  in  Bedford  Street,  —  the  same  house,  by  a 

2  Prescott  always  liked  puns,  and  made  a  good  many  of  them,  —  generally 
very  bad.  But  one  may  be  recorded.  It  was  apropos  of  his  mawiage  to  M:ss 
Amory,  for  which,  when  he  was  joked  by  some  of  his  young  bachelor  frienda 
as  a  deserter  from  their  ranks,  he  shook  his  finger  at  them,  and  repeated  tbs 
adage  of  Virgil:  — 

“  Omnia  vincit  Amor,  et  nos  cedamus  Amori.” 


MARRIES. 


51 


pleasant  coincidence,  in  which  Miss  Linzee,  the  mother  of  the 
bride,  had  been  married  to  Mr.  Amory  five  and  twenty  years 
before  ;  and  there  they  lived  as  long  as  that  ample  and  com¬ 
fortable  old  mansion  stood.8 

Another  coincidence  connected  with  this  marriage  should  be 
added,  although  it  was  certainly  one  that  augured  little  of  the 
happiness  that  followed.  The  grandfathers  of  Mr.  Prescott 
and  Miss  Amory  had  been  engaged  on  opposite  sides  during 
the  war  for  American  Independence,  and  even  on  opposite 
sides  in  the  same  fight ;  Colonel  Prescott  having  commanded 
on  Bunker  Hill,  while  Captain  Linzee,  of  the  sloop-of-war 
Falcon,  cannonaded  him  and  his  redoubt  from  the  waters  of 
Charles  River,  where  the  Falcon  was  moored  during  the  whole 
of  the  battle.  The  swords  that  had  been  worn  by  the  soldier 
and  the  sailor  on  that  memorable  day  came  down  as  heirlooms 
in  their  respective  families,  until  at  last  they  met  in  the  library 
of  the  man  of  letters,  where,  quietly  crossed  above  his  books, 
they  often  excited  the  notice  alike  of  strangers  and  of  friends. 
After  his  death  they  were  transferred,  as  he  had  desired,  to 
the  Historical  Society  of  Massachusetts,  on  whose  Avails  they 
have  become  the  memorials  at  once  of  a  hard-fought  field  and 
of  “  victories  no  less  renowned  than  those  of  war.”  A  more 
appropriate  resting-place  for  them  could  not  have  been  found. 
And  there,  we  trust,  they  may  rest  in  peace  so  long  as  the  two 
nations  shall  exist,  —  trophies,  indeed,  of  the  past,  but  warn¬ 
ings  for  the  future.4 

At  the  time  of  his  marriage  my  friend  was  one  of  the  finest- 
looking  men  I  have  ever  seen  ;  or,  if  this  should  be  deemed  in 
some  respects  a  strong  expression,  I  shall  be  fully  justified,  by 
those  who  remember  him  at  that  period,  in  saying  that  he  was 
one  of  the  most  attractive.  He  was  tall,  Avell  formed,  manly 
in  his  bearing  but  gentle,  with  light-brown  hair  that  was  hardly 
changed  or  diminished  by  years,  with  a  clear  complexion  and 
a  ruddy  flush  on  his  cheek  that  kept  for  him  to  the  last  an  ap¬ 
pearance  of  comparative  youth,  but,  above  all,  with  a  smile 
that  was  the  most  absolutely  contagious  I  ever  looked  upon. 

8  It  was  pulled  down  in  1845,  and  we  all  sorrowed  for  it,  and  for  the  ven¬ 
erable  trees  by  which  it  was  surrounded. 

*  See  Appendix  B. 


52 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


As  lie  grew  older,  he  stooped  a  little.  His  father’s  figure  was 
bent  at  even  an  earlier  age,  but  it  was  from  an  organic  in¬ 
firmity  of  the  chest,  unknown  to  the  constitution  of  the  son,  who 
stooped  chiefly  from  a  downward  inclination  which  he  instinc¬ 
tively  gave  to  his  head  so  as  to  protect  his  eye  from  the  light. 
But  his  manly  character  and  air  were  always,  to  a  remarkable 
degree,  the  same.  Even  in  the  last  months  of  his  life,  when 
he  was  in  some  other  respects  not  a  little  changed,  he  appeared 
at  least  ten  years  younger  than  he  really  was.  And  as  for  the 
gracious,  sunny  smile  that  seemed  to  grow  sweeter  as  he  grew 
older,  it  was  not  entirely  obliterated  even  by  the  touch  of 
death.  Indeed,  take  him  for  all  in  all,  I  think  no  man  ever 
walked  our  streets,  as  he  did  day  by  day,  that  attracted  such 
regard  and  good-will  from  so  many ;  for,  however  few  he  might 
know,  there  were  very  many  that  knew  him,  and  watched  him 
with  unspoken  welcomes  as  he  passed  along. 

A  little  before  his  marriage  he  had,  with  a  few  friends 
nearly  of  his  own  age  and  of  similar  tastes,  instituted  a  club 
for  purposes  both  social  and  literary.  Their  earliest  informal 
gathering  was  in  June,  1818.  On  the  first  evening  they  num¬ 
bered  nine,  and  on  the  second,  twelve.  Soon,  the  number  was 
still  further  enlarged  ;  but  only  twenty-four  were  at  any  time 
brought  within  its  circle ;  and  of  these,  after  an  interval  of 
above  forty  years,  eleven  still  survive  (1862). 6 


6  The  names  of  the  members  of  this 
♦Alexander  Bliss, 

♦John  Brazer, 

♦George  Augustus  Frederic  Dawson, 
♦Franklin  Dexter, 

♦Samuel  Atkins  Eliot, 

♦William  Havard  Eliot, 

Charles  Folsom, 

William  Howard  Gardiner, 

John  Chipman  Gray, 

♦Francis  William  Pitt  Greenwood, 
♦Enoch  Hale, 

Charles  Greely  Loring, 


genial,  scholarlike  little  club  were, 
William  Powell  Mason, 

John  Gorham  Palfrey, 

Theophilus  Parsons, 

Octavius  Pickering, 

♦William  Hickling  Prescott, 
Jared  Sparks, 

♦William  Jones  Spooner, 
♦Jonathan  Mayhew  Wainwright, 
John  Ware, 

Henry  Warren, 

♦Martin  Whiting, 

♦Francis  William  Winthrop. 


Those  marked  with  an  asterisk  are  dead ;  but  it  may  be  worth  notice  that, 
although  several  of  the  most  promising  members  of  the  club  died  so  young 
that  the  time  for  their  distinction  never  came,  more  than  half  of  the  whole 
number  have  been  known  as  authors,  no  one  of  whom  has  failed  to  do 
credit  to  the  association  in  which  his  youth,  in  part  at  least,  was  trained. 


HIS  CLUB. 


53 


Prescott,  from  his  happy,  social  nature,  as  well  as  from  his 
love  of  letters,  was  eminently  fitted  to  be  one  of  the  members 
of  such  a  club,  and  rarely  failed  to  be  present  at  its  meetings, 
which  he  always  enjoyed.  In  their  earliest  days,  after  the 
fashion  of  such  youthful  societies,  they  read  papers  of  their 
own  composition,  and  amused  themselves  by  criticising  one 
another,  and  sometimes  their  neighbors.  As  a  natural  conse¬ 
quence  of  such  intercourse,  it  was  not  long  before  they  began 
to  think  that  a  part,  at  least,  of  what  they  had  written  was  too 
good  to  be  confined  to  their  own  meetings  ;  and  chiefly,  I 
believe,  under  Prescott’s  leading,  they  determined  to  institute 
a  periodical,  or  rather  a  work  which  should  appear  at  uncer¬ 
tain  intervals,  and  be  as  little  subject  to  rules  and  restrictions 
of  any  sort  as  their  own  gay  meetings  were.  At  any  rate,  if 
he  were  not  the  first  to  suggest  the  project,  he  was  the  most 
earnest  in  promoting  it  after  it  was  started,  and  was  naturally 
enough,  both  from  his  leisure  and  his  tastes,  made  editor. 

It  was  called  “  The  Club-Room,”  and  the  first  number  was 
published  February  5th,  1820.  But  its  life,  though  it  seems  to 
have  been  a  merry  one,  was  short ;  for  the  fourth  and  last 
number  appeared  on  the  19th  of  July  of  the  same  year.  Nor 
was  there  any  especial  reason  to  lament  its  fate  as  untimely. 
It  was  not  better  than  the  average  of  such  publications,  perhaps 
not  so  good.  Prescott,  I  think,  brought  but  three  contributions 
to  it.  The  first  is  the  leading  article  in  the  second  number, 
and  gives,  not  without  humor,  an  account  of  the  way  in  which 
the  first  number  had  been  received  when  it  was  ushered  into  a 
busy,  bustling  world,  too  careless  of  such  claims  to  its  notice. 
The  others  were  tales ;  one  of  which,  entitled  “  The  Yale  of 
Alleriot,”  was  more  sentimental  than  he  would  have  liked  later  ; 
and  one,  “  Calais,”  was  a  story  which  Allston,  our  great  artist, 
used  to  tell  with  striking  effect.  Neither  of  them  had  anything 
characteristic  of  what  afterwards  distinguished  their  author,  and 
neither  could  be  expected  to  add  much  to  the  popular  success 
of  such  a  publication.  The  best  of  the  contributions  to  it  were, 
I  think,  three  by  Mr.  Franklin  Dexter,  his  brother-in-law  ;  two 
entitled  “  Recollections,”  and  the  other,  “  The  Ruins  of  Rome  ” ; 8 
the  very  last  being,  in  fact,  a  humorous  anticipation  of  the  mean 
•  See  a  notice  of  him  in  the  account  of  the  Prescott  Family,  Appendix  (A). 


54 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


and  miserable  appearance  Boston  would  make,  if  its  chief  edi¬ 
fices  should  crumble  away,  and  become  what  those  of  the  mis¬ 
tress  of  the  ancient  world  are  now.  “And  here  ended  this 
precious  publication,”  as  its  editor,  apparently  with  a  slight 
feeling  of  vexation,  recorded  its  failure.  Not  that  he  could  be 
much  mortified  at  its  fate  ;  for,  if  it  was  notliing  else,  it  was  an 
undertaking  creditable  to  the  young  men  who  engaged  in  it  so 
as  to  accustom  themselves  to  write  for  the  public,  and  it  had, 
besides,  not  only  enlivened  their  evenings,  but  raised  the  tone 
of  their  intercourse  with  each  other.7 

When  the  last  number  of  “  The  Club-Room  ”  appeared,  its 
editor  had  been  married  two  months.  The  world  was  before 
him.  Not  only  was  his  decision  made  to  give  up  the  law  as  a 
profession,  but  he  had  become  aware  that  he  must  find  some 
other  serious  occupation  to  take  its  place ;  for  he  was  one  of  those 
who  early  discover  that  labor  is  the  condition  of  happiness, 
and  even  of  content,  in  this  world.  Ilis  selection  of  a  pursuit, 
however,  was  not  suddenly  made.  It  could  not  be.  Many 
circumstances  in  relation  to  it  were  to  be  weighed,  and  he 

7  I  cannot  refuse  my  readers  or  myself  the  pleasure  of  inserting  here  a 
faithful  account  of  Prescott’s  relations  to  this  club,  given  to  me  by  one  of  its 
original  founders  and  constant  supporters,  in  some  sketches  already  referred 
to;  1  mean  his  friend  Mr.  William  H.  Gardiner. 

“  The  club  formed  in  1818,  for  literary  and  social  objects  combined,  at  first 
a  supper  and  afterwards  a  dinner  club,  was,  to  the  end  of  our  friend’s  days, 
—  a  period  of  more  than  forty  years,  —  a  source  of  high  enjoyment  to  him. 
It  came  to  be  a  peculiar  association,  because  composed  of  men  of  nearly  the 
same  age,  who  grew  up  together  in  those  habits  of  easy,  familiar  intercourse 
which  can  hardly  exist  except  where  the  foundations  are  laid  in  very  young 
days.  He  was,  from  the  first,  a  leading  spirit  there,  latterly  quite  the  life 
and  soul  of  the  little  company,  and  an  object  of  particular  affection  as  well 
as  pride.  He  was  always  distinguished  there  by  some  particular  sobriquet. 
At  first  we  used  to  call  him  ‘  the  gentleman,’  from  the  circumstance  of  hia 
being  the  only  member  who  had  neither  profession  nor  ostensible  pursuit. 
For  many  years  he  was  called  1  the  editor,’  from  his  having  assumed  to  edit, 
in  its  day,  the  little  magazine  that  has  been  mentioned,  called  ‘  The  Club- 
Room.’  Finally,  he  won  the  more  distinguished  title  of  ‘  the  historian,’  and 
was  often  so  addressed  in  the  familiar  talk  of  the  club.  It  comprised  several 
of  Mr.  Prescott’s  most  intimate  personal  friends.  The  most  perfect  freedom 
prevailed  there.  All  sorts  of  subjects  took  their  turn  of  discussion.  So  that, 
were  it  possible  to  recall  particulars  of  his  conversations  at  these  meetings, 
extending  through  two  thirds  of  his  whole  life,  the  reader  would  gain  a  very 
perfect  idea  of  him  as  a  social  man.  But  the  insa  Trrepoevra  are  too  fleeting 
for  reproduction;  and  even  their  spirit  and  effect  can  hardly  be  gathered 
from  mere  general  descriptions.” 


DETERMINES  ON  A  LIFE  OF  LETTERS. 


55 


had  many  misgivings,  and  hesitated  long.  But  his  tastes  and 
employments  had  always  tended  in  one  direction,  and  therefore, 
although  the  decision  might  be  delayed,  the  result  was  all  but 
inevitable  He  chose  a  life  of  literary  occupation  ;  and  it  was 
well  that  he  chose  it  so  deliberately,  for  he  had  time,  before 
he  entered  on  its  more  serious  labors,  to  make  an  estimate  of  the 
difficulties  that  he  must  encounter  in  the  long  path  stretched  out 
before  him. 

In  tlxis  way  he  became  fully  aware,  that,  owing  to  the  in¬ 
firmity  under  which  he  had  now  suffered  during  more  than 
six  of  the  most  important  years  of  his  life,  he  had  much  to  do 
before  he  could  hope  even  to  begin  a  career  that  should  end 
with  such  success  as  is  worth  striving  for.  In  many  respects, 
the  very  foundations  were  to  be  laid,  and  his  first  thought 
was  that  they  should  be  laid  deep  and  sure.  He  had  never 
neglected  his  classical  studies,  and  now  he  gave  himself  afresh 
to  them  during  a  fixed  portion  of  each  day.  But  his  morQ 
considerable  deficiencies  were  in  all  modern  literature.  Or' 
the  English  he  had  probably  read  as  much  as  most  persons 
of  his  age  and  condition,  or  rather  it  had  been  read  to  liim ; 
but  this  had  been  chiefly  for  his  amusement  in  hours  of  pain 
and  darkness,  not  as  a  matter  of  study,  and  much  less  upon 
a  regular  system.  French  he  had  spoken  a  little,  though  not 
well,  while  he  was  in  France  and  Italy ;  but  he  knew  almost 
nothing  of  French  literature.  And  of  Italian  and  Spanish, 
though  he  had  learnt  something  as  a  school-boy,  it  had  been 
in  a  thoughtless  and  careless  way,  and,  after  the  injury  to  his 
sight,  botli  of  them  had  been  neglected.  The  whole,  therefore, 
was  not  to  be  relied  upon  ;  and  most  young  men  at  the  age  of 
four  or  five  and  twenty  would  have  been  disheartened  at  the 
prospect  of  attempting  to  recover  so  much  lost  ground,  and  to 
make  up  for  so  many  opportunities  that  had  gone  by  never  to 
return.  When  to  this  is  added  the  peculiar  discouragement 
that  seemed  almost  to  shut  out  knowledge  by  its  main  entrance, 
it  would  have  been  no  matter  of  reproach  to  his  courage  or  his 
manhood,  if  he  had  turned  away  from  the  undertaking  as  one 
beyond  his  strength. 

But  it  is  evident  that  he  only  addressed  himself  to  his  task 
with  the  more  earnestness  and  resolution.  He  began,  I  think 


56 


WILLIAM  IIICKLING  PRESCOTT 


wisely,  with  the  English,  being  willing  to  go  back  to  the  very 
elements,  and  on  the  30th  of  October,  1821,  made  a  memoran¬ 
dum  that  he  would  undertake  “a  course  of  studies”  involving — 

“  1.  Principles  of  grammar,  correct  writing,  &c. ; 

“  2.  Compendious  history  of  North  America ; 

“  3.  Fine  prose-writers  of  English  from  Roger  Ascham  to 
the  present  day,  principally  with  reference  to  their  mode  of 
writing,  —  not  including  historians,  except  as  far  as  requisite 
for  an  acquaintance  with  style ; 

“  4.  Latin  classics  one  hour  a  day.” 

The  American  history  he  did  not  immediately  touch ;  but 
on  the  rest  he  entered  at  once,  and  carried  out  his  plan  vigor¬ 
ously.  He  studied,  as  if  he  had  been  a  school-boy,  Blair’s 
Rhetoric,  Lindley  Murray’s  Grammar,  and  the  prefatory  mat¬ 
ter  to  Johnson’s  Dictionary,  for  the  grammatical  portion  of  his 
task  ;  and  then  he  took  up  the  series  of  good  English  writers, 
beginning  with  Ascham,  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  Bacon,  Browne, 
Raleigh,  and  Milton,  and  coming  down  to  our  own  times, — 
not  often  reading  the  whole  of  any  one  author,  but  enough  of 
each  to  obtain,  wdiat  he  more  especially  sought,  an  idea  of  liis 
style  and  general  characteristics.  Occasionally  he  noted  down 
his  opinion  of  them,  —  not  always  such  an  opinion  as  he  w'ould 
have  justified  or  entertained  later  in  life,  but  always  such  as 
showed  a  spirit  of  observation  and  a  purpose  of  improvement. 
Thus,  under  the  date  of  November,  1821,  he  says  :  — 

“  Finished  Roger  Ascham’s  ‘  Schoolmaster.’  Style  vigorous  and  pol¬ 
ished,  and  even  euphonious,  considering  the  period ;  his  language  often 
ungrammatical,  inelegant,  and  with  the  Latin  idiom.  He  was  one  of  ihe 
first  who  were  bold  and  wise  enough  to  write  English  prose.  He  dislikes 
rhyme,  and  thinks  iambics  the  proper  quantity  for  English  verse.  Hence 
blank  verse.  He  was  a  critical  scholar,  but  too  fastidious. 

“  Milton,  ‘  Reasons  of  Church  Government.’  Style  vigorous,  figurative 
to  conceit ;  a  rich  and  sublime  imagination  ;  often  coarse,  harsh  ;  constant 
use  of  Latin  idiom  ;  inversion.  He  is  very  bold,  confident  in  his  own 
talent,  with  close,  unrelenting  argument ;  upon  the  whole,  giving  the  reader 
a  higher  idea  of  his  sturdy  principle  than  of  his  affections.” 

In  this  way  he  continued  nearly  a  year  occupying  himself 
with  the  good  English  prose-writers,  and,  among  the  rest,  with 
the  great  preachers,  Taylor,  Tillotson,  and  Barrow,  but  not 
stopping  until  he  had  come  down  to  Jeffrey  and  Gifford,  whom 


FRENCH  STUDIES. 


57 


he  marked  as  the  leading  critics  of  our  period.  But  during 
all  this  time,  he  gave  his  daily  hour  to  the  principal  Latin 
classics,  especially  Tacitus,  Livy,  and  Cicero ;  taking  care,  as 
he  says,  to  “  observe  their  characteristic  physiognomies,  —  not 
style  and  manner  as  much  as  sentiments,  &c.” 

Having  finished  this  course,  he  turned  next  to  the  French, 
going,  as  he  intimates,  “  deeper  and  wider,”  because  his  purpose 
was  not,  as  in  the  Latin,  to  strengthen  his  knowledge,  but  to 
form  an  acquaintance  with  the  whole  of  French  literature, 
properly  so  called.  He  went  back,  therefore,  as  far  as  Frois¬ 
sart,  and  did  not  stop  until  he  had  come  down  to  Chateaubriand. 
It  was  a  good  deal  of  it  read  by  himself  in  the  forenoons,  thus 
6aving  much  time  ;  for  in  1822  —  1823,  except  when  occasional 
inflammation  occurred,  his  eye  was  in  a  condition  to  do  him 
more  service  than  it  had  done  him  for  many  years,  and  he  hus¬ 
banded  its  resources  so  patiently,  and  with  so  much  care,  that 
he  rarely  lost  anything  by  imprudence. 

But  French  literature  did  not  satisfy  him  as  English  had 
done.  He  found  it  less  rich,  vigorous,  and  original.  He, 
indeed,  enjoyed  Montaigne,  and  admired  Pascal,  whom  he 
preferred  to  Bossuet  or  to  Fenelon,  partly,  I  think,  for  the  same 
reasons  that  led  him  to  prefer  Corneille  to  Racine.  But  La- 
fontaine  and  Moliere  stood  quite  by  themselves  in  his  estima¬ 
tion,  although  in  some  respects,  and  especially  in  the  delineation 
of  a  particular  humor  or  folly,  he  placed  Ben  Jonson  before 
the  great  French  dramatist.  The  forms  of  French  poetry,  and 
the  rigorous  system  of  rhymes  enforced  in  its  tragedies,  were 
more  than  commonly  distasteful  to  him. 

While,  however,  he  was  thus  occupied  with  French  litera 
ture  as  a  matter  of  serious  study  during  parts  of  1822  and  1823, 
he  listened  to  a  good  deal  of  history  read  to  him  in  a  miscel¬ 
laneous  way  for  his  amusement,  and  went  through  a  somewhat 
complete  course  of  the  old  English  drama  from  Heywood  to 
Dryden,  accompanying  it  with  the  corresponding  portions  of 
August  Wilhelm  Schlegel’s  Lectures,  which  he  greatly  relished. 
During  the  same  period,  too,  we  read  together,  at  my  house, 
three  or  four  afternoons  in  each  week,  the  Northern  Antiqui¬ 
ties,  published  by  Weber,  Jamieson,  and  Scott,  in  1815  ;  a  good 
many  of  the  old  national  romances  in  Ritson  and  Ellis,  Sir 


58 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PKESCOTT. 


Tristrem,  Percy’s  Reliques,  and  portions  of  other  similar  col¬ 
lections, —  all  relating  either  to  the  very  earliest  English  lit¬ 
erature  or  to  its  connection  with  the  Scandinavian  and  the  Teu¬ 
tonic  It  was  his  first  adventure  in  this  direction,  and  he 
enjoyed  it  not  a  little,  —  the  more,  perhaps,  because  he  was 
then  going  on  with  the  French,  in  which  he  took  less  interest. 

In  the  autumn  of  1823,  following  out  the  same  general 
purpose  to  which  he  had  now  devoted  two  years,  he  began 
the  Italian.  At  first  lie  only  read  such  books  as  would  soonest 
make  him  familiar  with  the  language,  and  so  much  of  Sis- 
mondi’s  “  Litterature  du  Midi  ’  as  would  give  him  an  outline 
of  the  whole  field.  Afterwards  lie  took  Ginguene  and  some¬ 
times  Tiraboschi  for  his  guide,  and  went  over  an  extraordinary 
amount  of  poetry,  rather  than  prose,  from  Dante,  and  even  from 
the  “  Poeti  del  Primo  Secolo,”  to  Metastasio,  Alfieri,  and  Monti. 
It  seems  quite  surprising  how  much  he  got  through  with,  and  it 
would  he  almost  incredible,  if  his  notes  on  it  were  not  full  and 
decisive.  He  wrote,  in  fact,  more  upon  Italian  literature  than 
he  had  written  upon  either  the  English  or  the  French,  and  it 
made  apparently  a  much  deeper  impression  upon  him  than  the 
last.  At  different  times  he  even  thought  of  devoting  a  large 
part  of  his  life  to  its  study ;  and,  excepting  wliat  he  has  done 
in  relation  to  Spanish  history,  nothing  of  all  he  has  published 
is  so  matured  and  satisfactory  as  two  articles  in  the  “  North- 
American  Review  ” :  one  on  Italian  Narrative  Poetry,  pub¬ 
lished  in  October,  1824,  and  another  on  Italian  Poetry  and 
Romance,  published  in  July,  1831,  both  to  be  noticed  hereafter. 

With  what  spirit  and  in  what  tone  he  carried  on  at  tins  time 
the  studies  which  produced  an  effect  so  permanent  on  his  literary 
tastes  and  character  will  be  better  shown  by  the  following  famil¬ 
ial-  notes  than  by  anything  more  formal :  — 

TO  MR.  TICKNOR. 

Tuesday  Morning,  8  o’clock,  Dec.  15,  1828 

Dear  George, 

I  am  afraid  you  will  think  my  study  too  much  like  the  lion’s  den  ;  the 
footsteps  never  turn  outwards.  I  want  to  borrow  more  books  ;  viz.  one 
volume  of  ancient  Italian  poetry  ;  I  should  like  one  containing  specimens 
of  Ciuo  da  Pistoia,  as  I  suspect  he  was  the  best  versifier  in  Petrarch’s 
time;  also  Ginguene' ;  also,  some  translation  of  Dante. 


PETRARCH  AND  LAURA. 


59 


I  spoke  very  rashly  of  Petrarch  the  other  day.  I  had  only  read  the 
first  volume,  which,  though  containing  some  of  his  best  is  on  the  whole, 
much  less  moving  and  powerful  than  Part  II.  It  is  a  good  way  to  read 
him  chronologically ;  that  is,  to  take  up  each  sonnet  and  canzone  in  the 
order,  and  understanding  the  peculiar  circumstances,  in  which  it  was  writ¬ 
ten.  Ginguene  has  pointed  out  this  course. 

On  the  whole,  I  have  never  read  a  foreign  poet  that  possessed  more  of 
the  spirit  of  the  best  English  poetry.  In  two  respects  this  is  very  striking 
in  Petrarch ;  —  the  tender  passion  with  which  he  associates  every  place  in 
the  country,  the  beautiful  scenery  about  Avignon,  with  the  recollections  of 
Laura ;  and,  secondly,  the  moral  influence  which  his  love  for  her  seems  to 
have  had  upon  his  character,  and  which  shows  itself  in  the  religious  senti¬ 
ment  that  pervades  more  or  less  all  his  verses. 

How  any  one  could  ever  doubt  her  existence  who  has  read  Petrarch’s 
poetry,  is  a  matter  of  astonishment  to  me.  Setting  aside  external  evi¬ 
dence,  which  seems  to  me  conclusive  enough,  his  poetry  could  not  have 
been  addressed  to  an  imaginary  object ;  and  one  fact,  the  particular  delight 
which  he  takes  in  the  belief  that  she  retains  in  heaven,  and  that  hs  shall 
see  her  there,  with  the  same  countenance,  complexion,  bodily  appearance 
&c.,  that  she  had  on  earth,  is  so  natural  in  a  real  lover,  and  would  be  so 
unlikely  to  press  itself  upon  a  fictitious  one,  that  I  think  that  it  is  worth  no¬ 
ticing,  as  affording  strong  internal  evidence  of  her  substantial  existence.  I 
believe,  however,  that  it  is  admitted  generally  now,  from  facts  respecting 
his  family  brought  to  light  by  the  Abbe  de  Sade,  a  descendant  of  her 
house. 

The  richness  and  perfection  of  the  Italian  in  the  hands  of  Petrarch  is 
truly  wonderful.  After  getting  over  the  difficulty  of  some  of  his  mystical 
nonsense,  and  reading  a  canzone  two  or  three  times,  he  impresses  one  very 
much  ;  and  the  varied  measures  of  the  canzone  put  the  facility  and  melody 
of  verse-making  to  the  strongest  test.  Gravina  says,  there  are  not  two 
words  in  Petrarch’s  verses  obsolete.  Voltaire,  I  remember,  says  the  same 
thing  of  the  “  Provincial  Letters,”  writteu  three  hundred  years  later. 
Where  is  the  work  we  can  put  our  finger  on  in  our  own  tongue  before  the 
eighteenth  century  and  then  say  the  same  t  Yet  from  long  before  Eliza¬ 
beth’s  time  there  were  no  invasions  or  immigrations  to  new-mould  the 
language. 

I  hope  you  are  all  well  under  this  awful  dispensation  oj  snow.  I  ha\o 
shovelled  a  stout  path  this  morning,  and  can  report  it  more  than  a  fool 

deep.  A  line  evening  for  the  party  at  — — ,  and  I  dine  at - ;  so  I  get 

a  morning  and  a  half.  Give  my  condolence  to  Anna,  whom  I  hope  to 
meet  this  evening,  if  the  baby  is  well  and  we  should  not  be  buried  alive  In 
the  course  of  the  day. 

Yours  affectionately, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 

Being  also  shut  up  in  the  house  by  the  snow-storm  referred 
to,  I  answered  him  the  same  day  with  a  long  note  entering  into 
the  question  of  the  real  existence  of  Laura,  and  the  following 
rejoinder  came  the  next  day  close  upon  the  heel  of  my  reply. 


fi() 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT 


TO  MR.  TICKNOR. 

Bedford  Street,  Dec.  17, 1833. 

Dear  George, 

I  think  better  of  snow-storms  than  I  ever  did  before  ;  since,  though 
they  keep  a  man’s  body  in  the  house,  they  bring  his  mind  out.  I  suppose, 
if  it  had  been  fair  weather  yesterday,  I  should  not  have  had  your  little  dis¬ 
sertation  upon  Madonna  Laura,  which  interested  as  well  as  amused  me. 
As  to  the  question  of  the  real  existence  of  Madonna,  I  can  have  but  little 

to  say . One  thing  seems  to  me  clear,  that  the  onus  probandi  is 

with  those  who  would  deny  the  substantiality  of  Laura ;  because  she  is 
addressed  as  a  living  person  by  Petrarch,  and  because  no  contemporary 
unequivocally  states  her  to  have  been  an  ideal  one.  I  say  unequivocally, 
because  the  remark  you  refer  to  of  one  of  the  Colonna  family  seems  to 
have  been  rather  an  intimation  or  a  gratuitous  supposition,  which  might  well 
come  from  one  who  lived  at  a  distance  from  the  scene  of  attachment,  amour, 
or  whatever  you  call  this  Platonic  passion  of  Petrarch’s.  The  Idealists, 
nowever,  to  borrow  a  metaphysical  term,  would  shift  this  burden  of  proof 
upon  their  adversaries.  On  this  ground  I  agree  with  you,  that  internal 
evidence  derived  from  poetry,  whose  essence,  as  you  truly  say,  is  fiction, 
is  liable  to  great  misinterpretation.  Yet  I  think  that,  although  a  novel  or 
a  long  poem  may  be  written,  addressed  to,  and  descriptive  of  some  imag¬ 
inary  goddess,  &c.  (I  take  it,  there  is  not  much  doubt  of  Beatrice,  or  of  the 
original  of  Fiammetta),  yet  that  a  long  series  of  separate  poems  should 
have  been  written  with  great  passion,  under  different  circumstances,  through 
a  long  course  of  years,  from  the  warm  period  of  boyhood  to  the  cool  ret¬ 
rospective  season  of  gray  hairs,  would,  I  think,  be,  in  the  highest  degree, 
improbable.  But  when  with  this  you  connect  one  cr  two  external  facts, 
e.  g.  the  very  memorandum,  to  which  you  refer,  written  in  his  private 
manuscript  of  Virgil,  intended  only  for  himself,  as  he  expressly  says  in  it, 
with  such  solemn,  unequivocal  language  as  this:  “In  order  to  preserve 
the  melancholy  recollections  of  this  loss,  I  find  a  certain  satisfaction  min¬ 
gled  with  my  sorrow  in  noting  this  in  a  volume  which  often  falls  under  my 
eye,  and  which  thus  tells  me  there  is  nothing  further  to  delight  me  in  this 
life,  that  my  strongest  tie  is  broken,”  &c.,  &c.  Again,  in  a  treatise  “  I)e 
Contemptu  Mundi,”  a  sort  of  confession  in  which  he  seems  to  have  had  a 
sober  communion  with  his  own  heart,  as  I  infer  from  Ginguend,  he  speaks 
of  his  passion  for  Laura  in  a  very  unambiguous  manner.  These  notes  or 
memoranda,  intended  only  for  his  own  eye,  would,  I  think,  in  any  court 
of  justice  be  admitted  as  positive  evidence  of  the  truth  of  what  they  assert. 
I  should  be  willing  to  rest  the  point  at  issue  on  these  two  facts. 

Opening  his  poetry,  one  thing  struck  me  in  support  of  his  sincerity,  in 
seeing  a  sonnet,  which  begins  with  the  name  of  the  friend  we  refer  to. 

“  Rotta  e  1*  alta  Colonna  e  ’1  verde  Lauro.” 

Vilo  puns,  but  he  would  hardly  have  mingled  the  sincere  elegy  of  a  friend 
with  that  of  a  fictitious  creation  of  his  own  brain.  This,  I  admit,  is  not 
safe  to  build  upon,  and  I  do  not  build  upon  it.  I  agree  that  it  may  be 
highly  probable  that  investigators,  Italian,  French,  and  English,  have 
feigned  more  than  they  found,  —  have  gone  into  details,  where  only  a  few 


DANTE. 


61 


general  facts  could  be  hoped  for ;  but  the  general  basis,  the  real  existence 
of  some  woman  named  Laura,  who  influenced  the  heart,  the  conduct,  the 
intellectual  character,  of  Petrarch,  is,  I  think,  not  to  be  resisted.  And  I 
believe  your  decision  does  not  materially  differ  from  this. 

I  return  the  “  Poeti  del  Primo  Secolo.”  Though  prosaic,  they  are 
superior  to  what  I  imagined,  and  give  me  a  much  higher  notion  of  the 
general  state  of  the  Italian  tongue  at  that  early  period  than  I  had  imagined 
it  was  entitled  to.  It  is  not  more  obsolete  than  the  French  in  the  time  of 
Marot,  or  the  English  in  the  time  of  Spenser.  Petrarch,  however,  you 
easily  see,  infused  into  it  a  warmth  and  richness  —  a  splendor  of  poetical 
idiom  —  which  has  been  taken  up  and  incorporated  with  the  language  of 
succeeding  poets.  But  he  is  the  most  musical,  most  melancholy,  of  all. 
Sismondi  quotes  Malaspina,  a  Florentine  historian,  as  writing  in  1280, 
with  all  the  purity  and  elegance  of  modern  Tuscan.  But  I  think  you 
must  say,  Sat  prata  biberunt.  I  have  poured  forth  enough,  I  think,  con¬ 
sidering  how  little  I  know  of  the  controversy. 

I  have  got  a  long  morning  again,  as  I  dine  late.  So,  if  you  will  let  me 
have  “  Cary,”  8  I  think  it  may  assist  me  in  some  very  knotty  passages, 
though  I  am  afraid  it  is  too  fine  [print]  to  read  much. 

Give  my  love  to  Anna,  who,  I  hope,  is  none  the  worse  for  last  night’s 
frolicking. 

Yours  affectionately, 

W.  H.  Prescott. 

lie  soon  finished  Dante,  and  of  the  effect  produced,  on  him 
by  that  marvellous  genius,  at  once  so  colossal  and  so  gentle,  the 
following  note  will  give  some  idea.  It  should  be  added,  that 
the  impression  thus  made  was  never  lost.  He  never  ceased  to 
talk  of  Dante  in  the  same  tone  of  admiration  in  which  he 
thus  broke  forth  on  the  first  study  of  him,  —  a  noteworthy 
circumstance,  because,  owing  to  the  imperfect  vision  that  so 
crippled  and  curtailed  his  studies,  he  was  never  afterwards  able 
to  refresh  his  first  impressions,  except,  as  he  did  it  from  time 
to  time,  by  reading  a  few  favorite  passages,  or  listening  to 
them.9 


TO  MR.  TICKNOR. 

Jan.  21,  1824. 

Dear  George, 

I  shall  be  obliged  to  you  if  you  will  let  me  have  the  “  Arcadia  ”  of  San- 
nazaro,  the  “  Pastor  Fido,”  and  the  “  Aminta,”  —  together  with  the  vol¬ 
umes  of  Ginguene,  containing  the  criticism  of  these  poems. 

I  have  finished  the  Paradiso  of  Dante,  and  feel  as  if  I  had  made  a  mod 


8  Translation  cf  Dante. 

*  We,  however,  both  listened  to  the  reading  of  Dante,  by  an  accomplished 
Italian,  a  few  months  later;  but  this  I  consider  little  more  than  a  part  of  the 
same  study  of  the  altissimo poeta. 


62 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


important  addition  to  the  small  store  of  my  acquisitions.  To  have  read 
the  Inferno,  is  not  to  have  read  Dante  ;  his  genius  shows  itself  under  so 
very  different  an  aspect  in  each  of  his  three  poems.  The  Inferno  will 
always  be  the  most  popular,  because  it  is  the  most  —  indeed  the  only  one 
that  is  at  all  —  entertaining.  Human  nature  is  so  delightfully  constituted, 
that  it  can  never  derive  half  the  pleasure  from  any  relation  of  happiness 
that  it  does  from  one  of  misery  and  extreme  suffering.  Then  there  is  a 
great  deal  of  narrative,  of  action  in  the  Inferno,  and  very  little  in  the  two 
other  parts.  Notwithstanding  aLl  this,  I  think  the  impression  produced  on 
the  mind  of  the  reader  by  the  two  latter  portions  of  the  work  much  the 
most  pleasing.  You  impute  a  finer,  a  more  exquisite  (I  do  not  mean  a 
more  powerful),  intellectual  character  to  the  poet,  and,  to  my  notion,  a 
character  more  deeply  touched  with  a  true  poetical  feeling. 

The  Inferno  consists  of  a  series  of  pictures  of  the  most  ingenious,  the 
most  acute,  and  sometimes  the  most  disgusting  bodily  sufferings.  I  could 
wish  that  Dante  had  made  more  use  of  the  mind  as  a  source  and  a  means 
of  anguish.  Once  he  has  done  it  with  beautiful  effect,  in  the  description 
of  a  Barattiere,  1  believe,10  who  compares  his  miserable  state  in  hell  with 
h'S  pleasant  residence  on  the  banks  of  the  Arno,  and  draws  additional  an¬ 
guish  from  the  comparison.  In  general,  the  sufferings  he  inflicts  arc  of  a 
purely  physical  nature.  His  devils  and  bad  spirits,  until  one  or  two  excep¬ 
tions,  which  I  remember  you  pointed  out,  are  much  inferior  in  moral 
grandeur  to  Milton’s.  How  inferior  that  stupendous  overgrown  Satan  of  Iris 
to  the  sublime  spirit  of  Milton,  not  yet  stript  of  all  its  original  brightness. 
I  must  say  that  I  turn  with  more  delight  to  the  faultless  tale  of  Francesca  da 
l’olenta,  than  to  that  of  Ugolino,  or  any  other  in  the  poem.  Perhaps  it  is 
in  part  from  its  being  in  such  a  dark  setting,  that  it  seems  so  exquisite,  by 
contrast.  The  long  talks  in  the  Purgatorio  and  the  dismal  disputations  in 
the  Paradiso  certainly  lie  very  heavy  on  these  parts  of  the  work  ;  but  then 
this  very  inaction  brings  out  some  of  the  most  conspicuous  beauties  in 
Dante’s  composition. 

In  the  Purgatorio,  we  have,  in  the  first  ten  cantos,  the  most  delicious 
descriptions  of  natural  scenery,  and  we  feel  like  one  who  has  escaped  from 
a  dungeon  into  a  rich  and  beautiful  country.  In  the  latter  portions  of  it 
he  often  indulges  in  a  noble  tone  of  moral  reflection.  I  look  upon  the 
Purgatorio,  full  of  sober  meditation  and  sweet  description,  as  more  a 
I’Anglaise  than  any  other  part  of  the  Commcdia.  In  the  Paradiso  his  shock¬ 
ing  argumentations  are  now  and  then  enlivened  by  the  pepper  and  salt  of 
his  political  indignation,  but  at  first  they  both  discouraged  and  disgusted 
me,  and  I  thought  I  should  make  quick  work  of  the  business.  But  upon 
reading  further,  —  thinking  more  of  it, — I  could  not  help  admiring  the 
genius  which  be  has  shown  in  bearing  up  under  so  oppressive  a  subject. 
It  is  so  much  easier  to  describe  gradations  of  pain  than  of  pleasure,  — 
but  more  especially  when  this  pleasure  must  be  of  a  purely  intellectual 
nature.  It  is  like  a  painter  sitting  down  to  paint  the  soul.  The  Scrip- 

10  My  friend  says,  with  some  hesitation,  “  a  Barattiere,  I  believe."  It  was  ir 
fact  a  “  Falsificatore,”  —  a  counterfeiter ,  —  and  not  a  barrator  or  peculator 
The  barrators  are  found  in  the  twenty-first  canto  of  the  Inferno;  but  the 
beautiful  passage  here  alluded  to  is  in  the  thirtieth. 


DANTE. 


63 


tures  hare  net  done  it  successfully  They  paint  the  physical  tortures  of 
hell,  fire,  brimstone,  &c.,  but  in  heaven  the  only  joys,  i.  e.  animal  joys,  are 
singing  and  dancing,  which  to  few  people  convey  a  notion  of  high  delight, 
and  to  many  are  positively  disagreeable. 

Let  any  one  consider  how  difficult,  nay  impossible,  it  is  to  give  an  en¬ 
tertaining  picture  of  purely  intellectual  delight.  The  two  highest  kinds 
of  pure  spiritual  gratification  which,  I  take  it,  a  man  can  feel,  — at  least,  I 
esteem  it  so,  —  are  that  arising  from  the  consciousness  of  a  reciprocated 
passion  (I  speak  as  a  lover),  and,  second,  one  of  a  much  more  philosophic 
cast,  that  arising  from  the  successful  exertion  of  his  own  understanding  (as 
in  composition,  for  instance).  Now  Dante’s  pleasures  in  the  Paradiso  are 
derived  from  these  sources.  Not  that  he  pretends  to  write  books  there, 
but  then  he  disputes  like  a  doctor  upon  his  own  studies,  —  subjects  most 
interesting  to  him,  but  unfortunately  to  nobody  else.  It  is  comical  to  see 
how  much  he  plumes  himself  upon  his  successful  polemical  discussions 
with  St.  John,  Peter,  &c.,  and  how  he  makes  those  good  saints  praise  and 
flatter  him. 

As  to  his  passion  for  Beatrice,  I  think  there  is  all  the  internal  evidence 
of  its  being  a  genuine  passion,  though  her  early  death  and  probably  his 
much  musing  upon  her,  exaggerated  her  good  qualities  into  a  sort  of  mys¬ 
tical  personification  of  his  own,  very  unlike  the  original.  His  drinking  in 
all  his  celestial  intelligence  from  her  eyes,  though  rather  a  mystical  sen¬ 
timentalism,  is  the  most  glorious  tribute  that  ever  was  paid  to  woman.  It 
is  lucky,  on  the  whole,  that  she  died  when  she  was  young,  as,  had  she 
lived  to  marry  him,  he  would  very  likely  have  picked  a  quarrel  with  her, 
and  his  Divine  Comedy  have  lost  a  great  source  of  its  inspiration. 

In  all  this,  however,  there  was  a  great  want  of  action,  and  Dante  was 
forced,  as  in  the  Purgatorio,  to  give  vent  to  his  magnificent  imagination  in 
other  ways.  He  has  therefore,  made  use  of  all  the  meagre  hints  suggested 
metaphorically  by  the  Scriptures,  and  we  have  the  three  ingredients,  light, 
music,  and  dancing,  in  every  possible  and  impossible  degree  and  diversity. 
The  Inferno  is  a  sort  of  tragedy,  full  of  action  and  of  characters,  all  well 
preserved.  The  Paradiso  is  a  great  melodrama,  where  little  is  said,  but 
the  chief  skill  is  bestowed  upon  the  machinery,  —  the  getting  up,  —  and 
certainly,  there  never  was  such  a  getting  up,  anywhere.  Every  canto 
blazes  with  a  new  and  increased  effulgence.  The  very  reading  of  it  by 
another  pained  my  poor  eyes.  And  yet,  you  never  become  tired  with 
these  gorgeous  illustrations,  —  it  is  the  descriptions  that  fatigue. 

Another  beauty,  in  which  he  indulges  more  freely  in  the  last  than  in  the 
other  parts,  is  his  unrivalled  similes.  I  should  think  you  might  glean 
from  the  Paradiso  at  least  one  hundred  all  new  and  appropriate,  fitiing,  aa 
he  says,  “  like  a  ring  io  a  finger,”  and  most  beautiful.  Where  are  there 
any  comparisons  so  beautiful  ? 

I  must  say  I  was  disappointed  with  the  last  canto  ;  but  then,  as  the 
Irishman  said,  I  expected  to  be.  For  what  mortal  mind  could  give  a  por¬ 
trait  of  the  Deity.  The  most  conspicuous  quality  in  Dante,  to  my  notion, 
is  simplicity.  In  this  I  think  him  superior  to  any  work  I  ever  read,  un¬ 
less  it  be  some  parts  of  the  Scriptures.  Homer’s  allusions,  as  far  as  I 
recollect,  are  not  taken  from  as  simple  and  familiar,  yet  not  vulgar,  objects, 
as  arc  Dante’s,  —  from  the  most  common  intimate  relations  cf  domestic 


64 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


life,  for  instance,  to  which  Dante  often  with  great  sweetness  of  nature 
alludes. 

I  think  it  was  a  fortunate  thing  for  the  world,  that  the  first  poem 
in  modern  times  was  founded  on  a  subject  growing  out  of  the  Christian 
religion,  or  more  properly  on  that  religion  itself,  and  that  it  was  written 
by  a  man  deeply  penetrated  with  the  spirit  of  its  sternest  creed.  The 
religion  indeed  would  have  had  its  influence  sooner  or  later  upon  literature. 
But  then  a  work  like  Dante’s,  showing  so  early  the  whole  extent  of  its 
powers,  must  have  had  an  incalculable  influence  over  the  intellectual 
world,  — an  influence  upon  literature  almost  as  remarkable  as  that  exerted 
by  the  revelation  of  Christianity  upon  the  moral  world. 

As  to  Cary,  I  think  Dante  would  have  given  him  a  place  in  his  ninth 
heaven,  if  he  could  have  foreseen  his  Translation.  It  is  most  astonishing, 
giving  not  only  the  literal  corresponding  phrase,  but  the  spirit  of  the 
original,  the  true  Dantesque  manner.  It  should  be  cited  as  an  evidence  of 
the  compactness,  the  pliability,  the  sweetness  of  the  English  tongue.  It 
particularly  shows  the  wealth  of  the  old  vocabulary,  —  it  is  from  this  that 
lie  has  selected  his  rich  stock  of  expressions.  It  is  a  triumph  of  our 
mother  tongue  that  it  has  given  every  idea  of  the  most  condensed  original 
in  the  Italian  tongue  in  a  smaller  compass  in  this  translation,  —  his  can¬ 
tos,  as  you  have  no  doubt  noticed,  are  five  or  six  lines  shorter  generally 
than  Dante's.  One  defect  he  has.  He  does  not,  indeed  he  could  not, 
render  the  na'ive  terms  of  his  original.  This  is  often  noticeable,  but  it  is 
the  defect  of  our  language,  or  rather  of  our  use  of  it  One  fault  he  has, 
one  that  runs  through  his  whole  translation,  and  makes  it  tedious  ;  viz. 
a  too  close  assimilation  to,  or  rather  adoption  of,  the  Italian  idiom.  This 
leads  him  often  to  take  liberties  not  allowable  in  English,  —  to  be  ungram¬ 
matical,  and  so  elliptical  as  to  be  quite  unintelligible. 

Now  I  have  done,  and  if  you  ask  me  what  I  have  been  doing  all  this 
for,  or,  if  I  chose  to  write  it,  why  I  did  not  put  it  in  my  Commonplace, 
I  answer,  —  1st.  That  when  I  began  this  epistle,  I  had  no  idea  of  being 
so  lengthy  (as  we  say) ;  2d.  That,  in  all  pursuits,  it  is  a  great  delight  to 
find  a  friend  to  communicate  one’s  meditations  and  conclusions  to,  and 
that  you  are  the  only  friend  I  know  in  this  bustling,  money-getting  world, 
who  takes  an  interest  in  my  peculiar  pursuits,  as  well  as  in  myself.  So, 
for  this  cause,  I  pour  into  your  unhappy  ear  what  would  else  have  been 
decently  locked  up  in  my  esiritoire. 

I  return  you  Petrarca,  Tasso,  Ginguene,  Vols.  I. -IV.,  and  shall  be 
obliged  to  you,  in  addition  to  the  books  first  specified,  for  any  translation, 
&c.,  if  you  have  any  of  those  books;  also  for  an  edition  —  if  you  have 
such  —  of  the  Canterbury  Tales,  Vol.  I.,  that  contains  a  glossary  at  the 
bottom  of  each  page  below  the  text ;  Tyrrwhitt’s  being  a  dictionary. 

Give  my  love  to  Anna,  and  believe  me,  dear  George,  now  and  ever, 
Yours  affectionately, 

W.  H.  Pkescott. 

Pursuing  the  Italian  in  this  earnest  way  for  about  a  yeai, 
lie  found  that  his  main  purposes  in  relation  to  it  were  accom¬ 
plished,  and  he  would  gladly,  at  once,  have  begun  the  German, 


GIVES  UP  GERMAN. 


65 


of  which  he  knew  nothing  at  all,  but  which,  for  a  considerable 
period,  he  had  deemed  more  important  to  the  general  scholar¬ 
ship  at  which  he  then  aimed  than  any  other  modem  language, 
and  certainly  more  important  than  any  one  of  which  he  did  not 
already  feel  himself  sufficiently  master.  “  I  am  now,”  he  re¬ 
corded,  two  years  earlier,  in  the  spring  of  1822,  “  twenty-six 
years  of  age  nearly.  By  the  time  I  am  thirty,  God  willing,  I 
propose,  with  what  stock  I  have  already  on  hand,  to  be  a  very 
well  read  English  scholar ;  to  be  acquainted  with  the  classical 
and  useful  authors,  prose  and  poetry,  in  Latin,  French,  and 
Italian,  and  especially  in  history  ;  I  do  not  mean  a  critical  or 
profound  acquaintance.  The  two  following  years  I  may  hope 
to  learn  German,  and  to  have  read  the  classical  German 
writers  ;  and  the  translations,  if  my  eye  continues  weak,  of 
the  Greek.  And  this  is  enough,”  he  adds  quietly,  “for  general 
discipline.” 

But  the  German,  as  he  well  knew,  was  much  less  easy  of 
acquisition  than  any  of  the  modern  languages  to  which  he  had 
thus  far  devoted  himself,  and  its  literature  much  more  unman¬ 
ageable,  if  not  more  abundant.  He  was,  however,  unwilling  to 
abandon  it,  as  it  afforded  so  many  important  facilities  for  the 
pursuits  to  which  he  intended  to  give  his  life.  But  the  infir¬ 
mity  of  his  sight  decided  this,  as  it  had  already  decided,  and 
was  destined  later  to  decide,  so  many  other  questions  in  which 
he  was  deeply  interested.  After  much  deliberation,  therefore, 
he  gave  up  the  German,  as  a  thing  either  beyond  his  reach,  oi 
demanding  more  time  for  its  acquisition  than  he  could  reason¬ 
ably  give  to  it.  It  seemed,  in  fact,  all  but  an  impossibility  to 
learn  it  thoroughly ;  the  only  way  in  which  he  cared  to  learn 
anything. 

At  the  outset  he  was  much  discouraged  by  the  conclusion  to 
which  he  had  thus  come.  The  acquisition  of  the  German  was, 
in  fact,  the  first  obstacle  to  his  settled  literary  course  which 
his  patience  and  courage  had  not  been  able  to  surmount,  and 
for  a  time  he  became,  from  this  circumstance,  less  exact  and 
methodical  in  his  studies  than  he  had  previously  been.  He 
recorded  late  in  the  autumn  of  1824  :  “  I  have  read  with  no 
method  and  very  little  diligence  or  spirit  for  three  months.” 
This  he  found  an  unsatisfactory  state  of  things.  He  talked 


60 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


with  me  much  about  it,  and  seemed,  during  nearly  a  year, 
more  unsettled  as  to  his  future  course,  so  far  as  I  can  now 
recollect,  than  he  had  ever  seemed  to  me  earlier ;  certainly, 
more  than  he  ever  seemed  to  me  afterwards.  Indeed,  he  was 
<piite  unhappy  about  it. 


CtiAFTER,  VI. 


1824-1828. 


He  studies  Spanish  instead  op  German.  —  First  Attempts  not 

EARNEST.  —  MABLY’S  “  £tUDE  DE  L’HlSTOlRE.”  —  THINKS  OF  WRITING 

History.  —  Different  Subjects  suggested.  —  Ferdinand  and  Isa 
belba.  —  Doubts  long.  —  Writes  to  Mr.  A.  H.  Everett.  —  Delay 
from  Suffering  in  the  Eye.  —  Orders  Books  from  Spain.  —  Plan 
of  Study.  —  Hesitates  from  the  Condition  of  his  Sight.  —  De¬ 
termines  to  go  on.  —  His  Reader,  Mr.  English.  —  Process  of 
Work.  —  Estimates  and  Plans. 

N  accident  —  as  is  sometimes  the  case  in  the  life  of  even 


the  most  earnest  and  consistent  men  —  had  now  an  in¬ 


fluence  on  him  not  at  all  anticipated  by  either  of  us  at  the 
time,  and  one  which,  if  it  ultimately  proved  a  guiding  impulse, 
became  such  rather  from  the  force  of  his  own  character  than 
through  any  movement  imparted  to  him  from  without. 

I  had,  at  this  period,  been  almost  exclusively  occupied  for 
two  or  three  years  with  Spanish  literature,  and  had  completed 
a  course  of  lectures  on  Spanish  literary  history,  which  I  had 
delivered  to  the  highest  class  in  Harvard  College,  and  which 
became,  many  years  afterwards,  the  basis  of  a  work  on  that 
subject.  Thinking  simply  to  amuse  and  occupy  my  friend  at 
a  time  when  he  seemed  much  to  need  it,  I  proposed  to  read 
him  these  lectures  in  the  autumn  of  1824.  For  this  purpose 
he  came  to  my  house  in  the  early  part  of  a  succession  of  even¬ 
ings,  until  the  whole  was  completed ;  and  in  November  he 
determined,  as  a  substitute  for  the  German,  to  undertake  the 
Spanish,  which  had  not  previously  constituted  any  part  of  his 
plan  of  study.1 

He  made  his  arrangements  for  it  at  once,  and  we  prepared 
together  a  list  of  hooks  that  he  should  read.  It  was  a  great 

1  He  speaks  of  this  in  February,  1841,  writing  to  Don  Pascual  de  Gayangos, 
one  of  our  mutual  Spanish  friends;  when,  referring  back  to  the  year  1824,  ha 
says,  “I  heard  Mr.  Ticknor’s  lectures  then  with  great  pleasure.” 


68 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


and  unexpected  pleasure  to  me  to  find  him  launched  on  a 
course  of  study  in  which  I  had  long  been  interested,  and  I 
certainly  encouraged  him  in  it  as  much  as  I  could  without 
being  too  selfish. 

Soon  after  this,  however,  I  left  home  with  my  family,  and 
was  absent  during  the  greater  part  of  the  winter.  My  house 
was,  of  course,  shut  up,  except  that  servants  were  left  in  charge 
of  it ;  but  it  had  been  understood  between  us,  that,  as  he  had 
no  Spanish  books  of  his  own,  he  should  carry  on  his  Spanish 
studies  from  the  resources  he  would  find  in  my  library.  On 
the  1st  of  December  he  began  a  regular  drill  in  the  language, 
with  a  teacher,  and  on  the  same  day,  by  way  of  announcing  it, 
wrote  to  me :  — 

“  Tour  mansion  looks  gloomy  enough,  I  promise  you,  and  as  I  pass  it 
sometimes  in  the  evening,  with  no  cheerful  light  within  to  relieve  it,  it 
frowns  doubly  dismal  on  me.  As  to  the  interior,  I  have  not  set  my  foot 
within  its  precincts  since  your  departure,  which,  you  will  think,  does  not 
augur  well  for  the  Spanish.  1  propose,  however,  intruding  upon  the 
silence  of  the  illustrious  dead  the  latter  part  of  this  week,  in  order  to 
carry  off  the  immortal  remains  of  Don  Antonio  de  Solis,  whom  you,  dear 
George,  recommended  me  to  begin  with.” 

This  was  the  opening  of  the  Spanish  campaign,  which  ended 
only  with  his  life ;  and  it  is  worth  noting  that  he  was  already 
more  than  twenty-eight  years  old.  A  few  days  afterwards  he 
writes :  “  I  snatch  a  fraction  of  the  morning  from  the  interest¬ 
ing  treatise  of  Monsieur  Josse  on  the  Spanish  language,2  and 
from  the  ‘  Conquista  de  Mexico,’  which,  notwithstanding  the 
Mine  I  have  been  upon  it,  I  am  far  from  having  conquered.” 8 
But  he  soon  became  earnest  in  his  work.  On  the  24th  of 
January,  1825,  he  wrote  to  me  again :  — 

“  I  have  been  much  bent  upon  Spanish  the  last  month,  and  have  un- 

courtcously  resisted  all  invitations . to  break  in  upon  my  course  of 

reading.  I  begin  to  feel  my  way  perceptibly  in  it  now.  Did  you  never, 
in  learning  a  language,  after  groping  about  in  the  dark  for  a  long  while, 

2  Jossd,  E16mens  de  la  Grammaire  de  la  Langue  fispagnole. 

8  In  the  early  part  of  his  Spanish  studies,  as  he  here  intimates,  he  was  not 
much  interested.  At  Christmas,  1824,  he  wrote  to  bis  friend  Mr.  Bancroft: 
“  I  am  battling  with  the  Spaniards  this  winter,  but  I  have  not  the  heart  for  it 
that  I  had  for  the  Italians.  I  doubt  whether  there  are  many  valuable  things 
that  the  key  of  knowledge  will  unlock  in  that  language  ” ;  —  an  amusing  pre¬ 
diction,  when  we  consider  wkat  followed. 


EARLY  SPANISH  STUDIES. 


69 


nuddenly  seem  to  turn  an  angle,  where  the  light  breaks  upon  you  all  at 
once  1  The  knack  seems  to  have  come  to  me  within  the  last  fortnight,  in 
the  same  manner  as  the  art  of  swimming  comes  to  those  who  have  been 

splashing  about  for  months  in  the  water  in  vain . Will  you  have 

the  goodness  to  inform  me  in  your  next,  where  I  can  find  some  simple 
treatise  on  Spanish  versification,  —  also  in  which  part  of  your  library  is 
the  ‘  Amadis  de  Gaula.’ 4  For  I  presume,  as  Cervantes  spared  it  from 
the  bonfire,  you  have  it  among  your  treasures.  I  have  been  accompany¬ 
ing  my  course  with  Sismondi  and  Boutcrwek,  and  I  have  been  led  more 
than  once  to  reflect  upon  the  injustice  you  are  doing  to  yourself  in  seclud¬ 
ing  your  own  manuscript  Lectures  from  the  world.  Neither  of  these 
writers  has  gone  into  the  subject  as  thoroughly  as  you  have,”  &c.,  &c.“ 

On  coming  back  after  my  absence,  he  began  to  write  me 
notes  in  Spanish,  borrowing  or  returning  books,  and  sometimes 
giving  his  opinion  about  those  he  sent  home.  His  style  was  not, 
indeed,  of  the  purest  Castilian,  but  it  was  marked  with  a  clear¬ 
ness  and  idiomatic  vigor  which  not  a  little  surprised  me.  Three 
of  these  notes,  which  he  wrote  in  March  and  April,  1825,  still 
survive  to  give  proof  of  lus  great  industry  and  success  ;  and  one 
of  them  is  curious  for  opinions  about  Solis,  more  severe  than  he 
afterwards  entertained  when  he  came  to  study  that  historian's 
work  on  the  Conquest  of  Mexico  as  a  part  of  the  materials  for 
his  own.6 

But,  during  the  summer  of  1825,  his  reading  was  very  mis¬ 
cellaneous,  and,  excepting  “  Doblado’s  Letters  on  Spain,”  by 
Blanco  White,  no  part  of  it,  I  think,  was  connected  with  his 
strictly  Spanish  studies.  In  the  autumn,  however,  becoming 
much  dissatisfied  with  this  unsettled  and  irregular  sort  of  life, 
he  began  to  look  round  for  a  subject  to  which  he  could  give 
continuous  thought  and  labor.  On  the  16th  of  October  he 

*  He  remembered,  no  doubt,  the  boyish  pleasure  he  had  found  in  reading 
Southey’s  rifacimenlo  of  it.  See  ante,  p.  10. 

6  This,  with  much  more  like  it  in  the  present  letter  and  in  other  letters, 
which  I  do  not  cite,  was  founded  in  a  mistake,  made  by  his  kindness  for  me. 
The  Lectures  were  far  from  being  what  he  supposed  them  to  be.  They 
needed  to  be  entirely  recast,  before  they  could  be  presented  to  the  public 
with  any  decent  claims  to  thoroughness.  In  fact,  “  The  History  of  Spanish 
Literature”  did  not  appear  until  a  long  time  afterwards,  and  then  it  bore 
very  few  traces  of  its  academic  origin. 

6  On  another  occasion,  making  some  remarks  about  Ercilla’s  “  Araucana,” 
he  says,  in  the  same  spirit,  “  Both  Solis  and  Ercilla  disgust  the  temperate 
reader  by  the  little  value  they  set  upon  the  sufferings  of  the  heathen.”  In 
this  view  of  the  matter  1  heartily  concur  with  him. 


70 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


recorded  :  “  I  have  been  so  hesitating  and  reflecting  upon  what 
I  shall  do,  that  I  have,  in  fact,  done  nothing.”  And  October 
30th :  “  I  have  passed  the  last  fortnight  in  examination  of  a 
suitable  subject  for  historical  composition.7 8  It  is  well  to  deter¬ 
mine  with  caution  and  accurate  inspection.” 

At  first  his  thoughts  were  turned  towards  American  history, 
on  which  he  had  bestowed  a  good  deal  of  rather  idle  time  dur¬ 
ing  the  preceding  months,  and  to  which  he  now  gave  more.* 
But  Spanish  literature  began,  unexpectedly  to  him,  to  have 
stronger  attractions.  He  read,  or  rather  listened  to,  the  whole 
of  Mariana’s  beautiful  history,  giving  careful  attention  to  some 
parts  of  it,  and  passing  lightly  over  the  rest.  And  in  connec¬ 
tion  with  tins,  as  his  mind  became  more  directed  to  such  sub¬ 
jects,  he  listened  with  great  interest  to  Mably’s  “  Etude  de 
l’Histoire,”  —  a  work  which  had  much  influence  in  giving  its 
final  direction  to  his  life,  and  which  he  always  valued  both  for 
its  acuteness  and  for  its  power  of  setting  the  reader  to  think 
for  himself.  The  result  was  that,  at  Christmas,  after  no  little 
reflection  and  anxiety,  he  made  the  following  memorandum :  — 

“  I  have  been  hesitating  between  two  topics  for  historical  investiga¬ 
tion, —  Spanish  history  from  the  invasion  of  the  Arabs  to  the  consolidation 
of  the  monarchy  under  Charles  V.,  or  a  history  of  the  revolution  of 
ancient  Rome,  which  converted  the  republic  into  a  monarchy.  A  third 
subject  which  invites  me  is  a  biographical  sketch  of  eminent  geniuses, 
with  criticisms  on  their  productions  and  on  the  character  of  their  times. 
I  shall  probably  select  the  first,  as  less  difficult  of  execution  than  the 
second,  and  as  more  novel  and  entertaining  than  the  last.  But  I  must 

7  As  early  as  1820,  I  find  that  he  had  been  greatly  impressed  by  reading 
Gibbon’s  Autobiography  with  Lord  Sheffield’s  additions,  —  a  book  which  he 
always  regarded  with  peculiar  interest,  and  which  doubtless  had  its  influence 
in  originally  determining  him  to  venture  on  historical  composition.  In  one 
of  his  letters  written  in  1845,  he  says,  he  finds  memoranda  of  a  tendency  to 
historical  studies  as  early  as  1819. 

8  Two  or  three  years  earlier  than  this  date  —  probably  in  1822  —  I  find 
the  following  among  his  private  memoranda:  —  “History  has  always  been 
a  favorite  study  with  me;  and  I  have  long  looked  forward  to  it,  as  a  subject 
on  which  I  was  one  day  to  exercise  my  pen.  It  is  not  rash,  in  the  dearth  of 
well- written  American  history,  to  entertain  the  hope  of  throwing  light  upon 
this  matter.  This  is  my  hope.  But  it  requires  time,  and  a  long  time,  before 
the  mind  can  be  prepared  for  this  department  of  writing.”  He  took  time,  as 
we  shall  see,  for  it  was  seven  years,  at  least,  after  this  passage  was  written, 
before  he  began  the  composition  of  his  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.  “  I  think,” 
he  says,  “  thirty-five  years  of  age  full  soon  enough  to  put  pen  to  paper.”  As 
>t  turned  out,  he  began  in  earnest  a  little  before  he  had  reached  thirty-four. 


THINKS  OF  ITALIAN  AND  SPANISH  SUBJECTS. 


71 


discipline  my  idle  fancy,  or  my  meditations  will  be  little  better  than 
dreams.  I  have  devoted  more  than  four  hours  per  diem  to  thinking  oi 
dreaming  on  these  subjects.” 

But  this  delay  was  no  matter  of  serious  regret  to  him.  He 
always  deliberated  long  before  he  undertook  anything  of  conse¬ 
quence,  and,  in  regard  to  his  examination  of  this  very  matter, 
he  had  already  recorded  :  “  I  care  not  how  long  a  time  I  take 
for  it,  provided  I  am  diligent  in  all  that  time.” 

He  was  a  little  distracted,  however,  at  this  period,  by  the 
1  hought  of  writing  something  like  a  history  or  general  examina¬ 
tion  of  Italian  literature.  As  we  have  noticed,  he  had  in  182? 
been  much  occupied  with  the  principal  Italian  authors,  and  had 
found  the  study  more  interesting  than  any  he  had  previously 
pursued  in  modern  literature.  A  little  later  — -  that  is,  in  the 
autumn  of  1824  and  the  spring  of  1825  —  an  accomplished 
Italian  exile  was  in  Boston,  and,  partly  to  give  him  occupation, 
and  partly  for  the  pleasure  and  improvement  to  be  obtained 
from  it,  I  invited  the  unfortunate  scholar  to  come  three  or  four 
times  a  week,  and  read  aloud  to  me  from  the  principal  poets 
of  his  country.  Prescott  joined  me  in  it  regularly,  and  some¬ 
times  we  had  one  or  two  friends  with  us.  In  this  way  we  went 
over  large  portions  of  the  “  Divina  Commedia,”  and  the  whole 
of  the  “  Gerusalemme  Liberata,”  parts  of  Ariosto’s  “  Orlando 
Furioso,”  and  several  plays  of  AMeri.  The  sittings  were  very 
agreeable,  sometimes  protracted  to  two  or  three  hours,  and  we 
not  only  had  earnest  and  amusing,  if  not  always  very  profit¬ 
able,  discussions  about  what  we  heard,  but  sometimes  we  fol¬ 
lowed  them  up  afterwards  with  careful  inquiries.  The  pleasure 
of  the  meetings,  however,  was  their  great  attraction.  The 
Italian  scholar  read  well,  and  we  enjoyed  it  very  much.  In 
consequence  of  this,  Prescott  now  turned  again  to  his  Italian 
studies,  and  made  the  following  record :  — 

“  I  have  decided  to  abandon  the  Roman  subject.  A  work  on  the  revo¬ 
lutions  of  Italian  literature  has  invited  my  consideration  this  week,  —  a 
work  which,  without  giving  a  chronological  and  minute  analysis  of 
authors,  should  exhibit  in  masses  the  most  important  periods,  revolutions, 
and  characters  in  the  history  of  Italian  letters.  The  subject  would  admit 
of  contraction  or  expansion  ad  libitum  ;  and  I  should  be  spared  —  what  I 
detest  —  hunting  up  latent,  barren  antiquities.” 

The  last  remark  is  noteworthy,  because  it  is  one  of  the  many 


72 


WILLIAM  IIICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


instances  in  which,  after  severe  consideration,  he  schooled  him¬ 
self  to  do  well  and  thoroughly  what  he  much  disliked  to  do, 
and  what  was  in  itself  difficult. 

But  on  the  same  occasion  he  wrote  further  :  — 

“  The  subject  would  require  a  mass  of  [general]  knowledge  and  a  criti¬ 
cal  knowledge  of  the  Ituliau  in  particular.  It  would  not  be  new,  after 
the  production  of  Sismondi  and  the  abundant  notices  in  modem  Reviews. 
Literary  history  is  not  so  amusing  as  civil.  Cannot  I  contrive  to  em¬ 
brace  the  gift  of  the  Spanish  subject,  without  involving  myself  in  the 
unwieldy,  barbarous  records  of  a  thousand  years  ?  What  new  and  in¬ 
teresting  topics  may  be  admitted  —  not  forced  —  into  the  reigns  of  Fer¬ 
dinand  and  Isabella  ?  Can  I  not  indulge  in  a  retrospective  picture  of  the 
Constitutions  of  Castile  and  Aragon,  —  of  the  Moorish  dynasties,  and  the 
causes  of  their  decay  and  dissolution  t  Then  I  have  the  Inquisition, 
with  its  bloody  persecutions ;  the  Conquest  of  Granada,  a  brilliant  pas¬ 
sage  ;  the  exploits  of  the  Great  Captain  in  Italy,  —  a  proper  character  for 
romance  as  well  as  history ;  the  discovery  of  a  new  world,  my  own  coun¬ 
try  ;  the  new  policy  of  the  monarchs  towards  the  overgrown  aristocracy, 
&c.,  &c.  A  Biography  will  make  me  responsible  for  a  limited  space  only ; 
will  require  much  less  reading  (a  great  consideration  with  me) ;  will  oiler 
the  deeper  interest  which  always  attaches  to  minute  developments  of 
character,  and  a  continuous,  closely  connected  narrative.  The  subject 
brings  me  to  the  point  whence  [modern]  English  history  has  started,  is 
untried  ground,  and  in  my  opinion  a  rich  one.  The  age  of  Ferdinand  is 
most  important,  as  containing  the  germs  of  the  modern  system  of  Euro¬ 
pean  politics ;  and  the  three  sovereigns,  Henry  VII.,  Louis  XI.,  and 
Ferdinand,  were  important  engines  in  overturning  the  old  system.  It 
is  in  every  respect  an  interesting  and  momentous  period  of  history  ;  the 
materials  authentic,  ample.  I  will  chew  upon  this  matter,  and  decide 
this  week.” 

In  May,  1847,  above  twenty  years  afterwards,  lie  noted  in 
pencil  on  this  passage,  “  This  was  the  first  germ  of  my  concep¬ 
tion  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.” 

But  he  did  not,  as  he  hoped  he  should,  decide  in  a  week, 
although,  having  advanced  well  towards  a  decision,  he  soon 
began  to  act  as  if  it  were  already  made.  On  the  15th  of  Jan¬ 
uary,  1826,  when  the  week  had  expired,  he  recorded  :  — 

“  Still  doubting,  looked  through  Hita’s  ‘  Guerras  de  Granada,’  Vol.  1 
The  Italian  subject  has  some  advantages  over  the  Spanish.  It  will  save 
me  at  least  one  year’s  introductory  labor.  It  is  in  the  regular  course  of 
my  studies,  and  I  am  comparatively  at  home  in  literary  history,  particu¬ 
larly  the  Italian.  This  subject  has  not  only  exercised  my  studies,  but  my 
meditations,  so  that  I  may  fairly  estimate  my  starting  ground  at  one  year. 
Then  I  have  tried  this  topic  in  public  journals,  and  know  the  measure  of 
my  own  strength  in  relation  to  it.  I  am  quite  doubtful  of  my  capacity 


LETTER  TO  A.  H.  EVERETT. 


73 


for  doing  ju  twice  to  the  other  subject.  I  have  never  exercised  my  mind 
upon  similar  matters,  and  I  have  stored  it  with  no  materials  for  compari¬ 
son.  How  can  I  pronounce  upon  the  defects  or  virtues  of  the  Spanish 
constitutions,  when  I  am  hardly  acquainted  with  those  of  other  nations  1 
How  can  I  estimate  the  consequences,  moral,  political,  &c.,  of  laws  and 
institutions,  when  1  have,  in  all  my  life,  scarcely  ever  looked  the  subject 
in  the  face,  or  even  read  the  most  elementary  treatise  upon  it  ?  But  will 
not  a  year’s  labor,  judiciously  directed,  put  me  on  another  footing  ?  ” 

After  some  further  discussion  in  the  nature  of  a  soliloquy,  he 
adds : — 

“  I  believe  the  Spanish  subject  will  be  more  new  than  the  Italian  ; 
more  interesting  to  the  majority  of  readers ;  more  useful  to  me  by  open¬ 
ing  another  and  more  practical  department  of  study ;  and  not  more  labo¬ 
rious  in  relation  to  authorities  to  be  consulted,  and  not  more  difficult  to  be 
discussed,  with  the  lights  already  afforded  me  by  judicious  treatises  on  the 
most  intricate  parts  of  the  subject,  and  with  the  allowance  of  the  introduc¬ 
tory  year  for  my  novitiate  in  a  new  walk  of  letters.  The  advantages  of 
the  Spanish  topic,  on  the  whole,  overbalance  the  inconvenience  of  the 
requisite  preliminary  year.  For  these  reasons,  I  subscribe  to  the  History 
of  the  Reign  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  January  19th,  1826.” 

And  then  follows  in  pencil,  —  “A  fortunate  choice,  May, 

1847” 

He  therefore  began  in  earnest,  and,  on  the  22d  of  January, 
prepared  a  list  of  books  such  as  he  should  require,  and  wrote  a 
long  letter  to  Mr.  Alexander  H.  Everett,  then  our  Minister  at 
Madrid,  an  accomplished  scholar  himself,  and  one  who  was 
always  interested  in  whatever  regarded  the  cause  of  letters. 
They  had  already  been  in  correspondence  on  the  subject,  and 
Mr.  Everett  had  naturally  advised  his  younger  friend  to  come 
to  Spain,  and  make  for  himself  the  collections  he  needed,  at 
the  same  time  offering  to  serve  him  in  any  way  he  could. 

“  I  entirely  agree  with  you,”  Prescott  replied,  “  that  it  would  be  highly 
advantageous  for  me  to  visit  Spain,  and  to  dive  into  the  arcana  of  those 
libraries  which,  you  say,  contain  such  ample  stores  of  iiistory,  and  I  assure 
you,  that,  as  I  am  situated,  no  consideration  of  domestic  ease  would  detain 
me  a  moment  from  an  expedition,  which,  after  all,  would  not  consume  more 
than  four  or  five  months.  But  the  state  of  my  eyes,  or  rather  eye,  — -  for 
I  have  the  use  of  only  one  half  of  this  valuable  apparatus,  —  precludes  the 
possibility  of  it.  During  the  last  year  this  one  has  been  sadly  plagued 
with  what  the  physicians  are  pleased  to  call  a  rheumatic  inflammation,  for 
which  I  am  now  under  treatment . 1  have  always  found  travel¬ 

ling,  with  its  necessary  exposures,  to  be  of  infinite  disservice  to  my  eyes, 
and  in  this  state  of  them  particularly  I  dare  not  risk  it. 

“  You  will  ask,  with  these  disadvantages,  how  I  can  expect  to  succeed 
* 


74 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


in  my  enterprise.  I  answer,  that  I  hope  always  to  have  a  partial  use  of 
my  eyes,  and,  for  the  rest,  an  intelligent  reader,  who  is  well  acquainted 
with  French,  Spanish,  and  Latin,  will  enable  me  to  effect  with  my  ears 
what  other  people  do  with  their  eyes.  The  only  material  inconvenience 
will  be  a  necessarily  more  tedious  and  prolonged  labor.  Johnson  says,  in 
his  Life  of  Milton,  that  no  man  can  compile  a  history  who  is  blind.  But 
although  I  should  lose  the  use  of  my  vision  altogether  (an  evil  not  in  the 
least  degree  probable),  by  the  blessing  of  God,  if  my  ears  are  spared  me, 
I  will  disprove  the  assertion,  and  my  chronicle,  whatever  other  demerits  it 
may  have,  shall  not  be  wanting  in  accuracy  and  research.9  If  my  health 
continues  thus,  I  shall  necessarily  be  debarred  from  many  of  the  convivial, 
not  to  say  social  pleasures  of  life,  and  consequently  must  look  to  literary 
pursuits  as  the  principal  and  permanent  source  of  future  enjoyment.  As 
with  these  views  I  have  deliberately  taken  up  this  project,  and  my  pro 
gress,  since  I  have  begun  to  break  ground,  entirely  satisfies  me  of  the 
feasibility  of  the  undertaking,  you  will  not  wonder  that  I  should  be  ex¬ 
tremely  solicitous  to  bring  within  my  control  an  ample  quantity  of  original 
materials,  such  as  will  enable  me  to  achieve  my  design,  and  such  as  will 
encourage  me  to  pursue  it  with  steady  diligence,  without  fear  of  compe¬ 
tition  from  any  quarter.” 

But  his  courage  and  patience  were  put  to  a  new  and  severe 
trial,  before  he  could  even  place  his  foot  upon  the  threshold  of 
the  great  undertaking  whose  difficulties  he  estimated  so  justly. 
A  dozen  years  later,  in  May,  1838,  when  the  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella  was  already  published,  he  made  a  memorandum  in 
pencil  on  the  letter  just  cited  :  “  This  very  letter  occasioned  the 
injury  to  the  nerve  from  which  I  have  never  since  recovered.” 
Precisely  what  this  injury  may  have  been,  I  do  not  know. 
He  calls  it  at  first  “  a  stiffness  of  the  right  eye,”  as  if  it  were  a 
recurrence  there  of  the  rheumatism  which  was  always  more  or 
less  in  some  part  of  his  person  ;  but  a  few  months  afterwards 
he  speaks  of  it  as  “  a  new  disorder.”  It  was,  I  apprehend, 
only  the  result  of  an  effort  too  great  for  the  enfeebled  organ, 
and,  whenever  any  considerable  similar  exertion  during  the 

9  “  To  compile  a  history  from  various  authors,  when  they  can  only  be  con¬ 
sulted  by  others’  eyes,  is  not  easy,  nor  possible,  without  more  skilful  and  at¬ 
tentive  help  than  can  be  commonly  obtained ;  and  it  was  probably  the  difficulty 
of  consulting  and  comparing,  that  stopped  Milton’s  narrative  at  the  Conquest, 
—  a  period  at  which  affairs  were  not  very  intricate,  nor  authors  very  numer¬ 
ous.” —  Johnson’s  Works,  (London,  1816,)  Vol.  IX.  p.  115.  “  This  remark  of 
the  great  critic,”  says  Prescott,  in  a  note  to  the  Preface  of  Ferdinand  and  Isa 
bella,  (1837,)  where  it  is  cited,  —  “  This  remark,  which  first  engaged  my  atten¬ 
tion  in  the  midst  of  my  embarrassments,  although  discouraging  at  first,  in  the 
end  stimulated  my  desire  to  overcome  them.”  Nitor  in  adversum  might  have 
been  his  motto. 


FLAN  OF  STUDY  FOR  FERDINAND  AND  ISABELLA.  75 


rest  of  his  life  was  required  from  it,  he  used  to  describe  the 
sensation  he  experienced  as  “  a  strain  of-  the  nerve.”  It  was, 
no  doubt,  something  of  the  sort  on  this  occasion,  and  he  felt  for 
a  time  much  discouraged  by  it. 

The  letter  which  it  had  cost  him  so  much  to  write,  because 
he  thought  it  necessary  to  do  it  with  uncommon  care,  was  left 
in  his  portfolio  to  wait  the  result  of  this  fresh  and  unexpected 
attack  on  the  poor  resources  of  his  sight.  It  was  a  painful 
interval.  Severe  remedies  were  used.  The  cuppings  then 
made  on  Ms  temples  left  marks  that  he  carried  to  his  grave. 
But  in  his  darkened  room,  where  I  constantly  saw  Mm,  and 
sometimes  read  to  him,  Ms  spirits  never  failed.  He  bated  “  no 
jot  of  heart  or  hope.” 

At  last,  after  above  four  weary  months,  which  he  passed 
almost  always  in  a  dark  room,  and  during  which  he  made  no 
record,  I  find  an  entry  among  his  memoranda  dated  “  June  4, 
1826.  A  melancholy  gap,”  he  says,  “  occasioned  by  tMs  new 
disorder  in  the  eye.  It  has,  however,  so  much  abated  this  sum¬ 
mer,  that  I  have  sent  my  orders  to  Madrid.  I  trust  I  may  yet 
be  permitted  to  go  on  with  my  original  plan.  What  I  can’t 
read  may  be  read  to  me.  I  will  secure  what  I  can  of  the 
foreign  tongues,  and  leave  the  English  to  my  secretary.  When 
I  can’t  get  six,  get  four  hours  per  day.  I  must  not  waste  time 
in  going  too  deeply  or  widely  into  my  subject ;  or,  rather,  I 
must  confine  myself  to  what  exclusively  and  directly  concerns 
it.  I  must  abjure  manuscript  and  fine  print.  I  must  make 
memoranda  accurate  and  brief  of  every  book  I  read  for  this 
object.  Travelling  at  this  lame  gait,  I  may  yet  hope  in  five  or 
six  years  to  reach  the  goal.”  In  tliis,  however,  he  was  mis¬ 
taken.  It  proved  to  be  twice  as  much. 

As  soon  as  the  order  for  books  was  despatched,  he  made  Ms 
plan  of  work.  It  was  as  ample  and  bold  as  if  nothing  had  oc¬ 
curred  to  cheek  Ms  hopes. 

“  My  general  coarse  of  study,”  he  says,  “must  be  as  follows.  1.  Gen¬ 
eral  Laws,  &c.  of  Nations.  2.  History  and  Constitution  of  England. 
3.  History  and  Government  of  other  European  Nations,  —  France,  Italy 
to  1550,  Germany,  Portugal.  Under  the  last  two  divisions,  I  am  partic¬ 
ularly  to  attend  to  the  period  intervening  between  1400  and  1550.  4.  Gen¬ 
eral  History  of  Spain,  —  its  Geography,  its  Civil,  Ecclesiastical,  Statistical 
Concerns  ;  particularly  from  1400  to  1550.  5,  Ferdinand’s  Keignen  grot- 


76 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


6.  Whatever  concerns  such  portions  of  my  subject  as  I  am  immediately 
to  treat  of.  The  general  division  of  it  I  will  arrange  when  I  have  gone 
through  the  first  five  departments. 

“  This  order  of  study  I  shall  pursue,  as  far  as  my  eyes  will  allow.  When 
they  are  too  feeble  to  be  used,  I  must  have  English  writers  read  to  me,  and 
then  I  will  select  such  works  as  have  the  nearest  relation  to  the  department 
of  study  which  I  may  be  investigating.” 

Immediately  after  this  general  statement  of  his  plan  follows 
a  list  of  several  hundred  volumes  to  be  read  or  consulted, 
which  would  have  been  enough,  one  would  think,  to  alarm 
the  stoutest  heart,  and  severely  tax  the  best  eyes.  This,  indeed, 
he  sometimes  felt  to  be  the  case.  Circumstances  seemed  occa¬ 
sionally  to  be  stronger  than  his  strong  will.  He  tried,  for 
instance,  soon  after  making  the  last  record,  to  read  a  little,  and, 
went  at  the  most  moderate  rate,  through  half  a  volume  of 
Montesquieu’s  “  Esprit  des  Lois,”  which  was  to  be  one  of  the 
first  stepping-stones  to  his  great  fabric.  But  the  trouble  in  his 
sig'ht  was  so  seriously  aggravated  by  even  this  experiment,  very 
cautiously  made,  that  lie  recorded  it  as  “  a  warning  to  desist 
from  all  further  use  of  his  eye  for  the  present,  if  not  for  ever.” 
In  fact,  for  three  months  and  more  he  did  not  venture  to  open 
a  book. 

At  the  end  of  that  time  he  began  to  doubt  whether,  during 
the  period  in  which  it  now  seemed  all  but  certain  that  he 
could  have  no  use  of  his  eye,  and  must  often  be  shut  up  in  a 
darkened  room,  he  had  not  better,  without  giving  up  his  main 
purpose,  undertake  some  other  work  more  manageable  than 
one  that  involved  the  use  of  books  in  several  foreign  languages. 
On  the  1st  of  October,  therefore,  he  records,  evidently  with 
great  regret :  — 

“  As  it  may  probably  be  some  years  before  I  shall  be  able  to  use  my 
,>wu  eyes  in  study,  or  eveu  find  a  suitable  person  to  read  foreign  languages 
to  me,  1  have  determined  to  postpone  my  Spanish  subject,  and  to  occupy 
myself  with  an  Historical  Survey  of  English  Literature.  The  subject  has 
never  been  discussed  as  a  whole,  and  therefore  would  be  somewhat  new, 
and,  if  well  conducted,  popular.  But  the  great  argument  with  me  is,  that, 
while  it  is  a  subject  with  which  my  previous  studies  have  made  me  toler¬ 
ably  acquainted  and  have  furnished  me  with  abundance  of  analogies  in 
foreign  literatures,  it  is  one  which  I  may  investigate  nearly  as  well  with 
my  ears  as  with  my  eyes,  and  it  will  not  be  difficult  to  find  good  readers 
in  the  Euglisli,  though  extremely  difficult  in  any  foreign  language.  F aux¬ 
in  m  sit.” 


DIFFICULTIES  IN  FINDING  A  READER. 


77 


A  month,  however,  was  sufficient  to  satisfy  him  that  this 
was  a  mistake,  and  that  the  time  which,  with  his  ultimate 
purpose  of  writing  a  large  work  on  Spanish  history,  he  could 
afford  to  give  to  this  intercalary  project,  could  do  little  with  a 
subject  so  broad  as  English  literature.  After  looking  through 
Warton’s  fragment  and  Turner’s  Anglo-Saxons,  he  therefore 
writes,  November  5th,  1826  :  — 

“  I  have  again,  and  I  trust  finally,  determined  to  prosecute  my  former 
subject,  the  Iieign  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.  In  taking  a  more  accurate 
survey  of  iny  projected  English  Literary  History,  I  am  convinced  it  will 
take  at  least  five  years  to  do  anything  at  all  satisfactory  to  myself,  and  I 
cannot  be  content  to  be  so  long  detained  from  a  favorite  subject,  and  one 
for  which  I  shall  have  such  rare  and  valuable  materials  in  my  own  pos¬ 
session.  But  what  chiefly  influences  me  is  the  prospect  of  obtaining  some 
one,  in  the  space  of  a  year,  who,  by  a  competent  knowledge  of  foreign 
languages,  will  enable  me  to  pursue  my  original  design  with  nearly  as 
great  facility  as  I  should  possess  for  the  investigation  of  English  literature. 
And  I  am  now  fully  resolved,  that  nothing  but  a  disappointment  in  my 
expected  supplies  from  Spain  shall  prevent  me  from  prosecuting  my  origi¬ 
nal  scheme ;  where,  at  any  rate,  success  is  more  certain,  if  not  more 
easy.” 

The  difficulty  that  resulted  from  dhe  want  of  a  competent 
reader  was  certainly  a  great  one,  and  he  felt  it  severely.  He 
talked  with  me  much  about  it,  but  for  a  time  there  seemed  no 
remedy.  He  went,  therefore,  courageously  through  several 
volumes  of  Spanish  with  a  person  who  understood  not  a  word 
of  what  he  was  reading.  It  was  awkward,  tedious  work, — 
more  disagreeable  to  the  reader,  probably,  than  it  was  to  the 
listener.  But  neither  of  them  shrunk  from  the  task,  which 
sometimes,  notwithstanding  its  gravity  and  importance,  seemed 
ridiculous  to  both.10 

At  last  he  was  satisfied  that  his  undertaking  to  write  history 
was  certainly  practicable,  and  that  he  could  substantially  make 
his  ears  do  the  work  of  his  eyes.  It  was  an  important  conclu- 

10  In  a  letter  to  me  written  in  the  summer  of  1827,  when  I  happened  to  be 
on  a  journey  to  Niagara,  he  says:  “  My  excellent  reader  and  present  scribe 
reads  to  me  Spanish  with  a  true  Castilian  accent  two  hours  a  day,  without 
understanding  a  word  of  it.  What  do  you  think  of  this  for  the  temperature 
of  the  dog-days?  and  which  should  you  rather  be,  the  reader  or  the  readee!” 
In  a  letter  ten  years  later — Dec.  20,  1837  —  to  his  friend  Mr.  Bancroft,  he 
says,  that  among  those  readings  by  a  person  who  did  not  know  the  language 
were  seven  quarto  volumes  in  Spanish. 


78 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


sion,  and  its  date  is,  therefore,  one  of  the  turning  points  of  his 
life.  He  came  to  it  about  the  time  he  prepared  the  letter  to 
Mr.  Everett,  and  in  consequence  provided  himself  for  a  few 
months  with  a  young  reader  of  more  accomplishments,  who 
subsequently  became  known  in  the  world  of  letters,  and  was 
among  those  who  paid  a  tribute  of  graceful  verse  to  the  histo¬ 
rian’s  memory.11 

This,  however,  was  only  a  temporary  expedient,  and  he  was 
desirous  to  have  something  which  should  be  permanent.  It 
cost  not  a  little  time  and  labor  to  fit  anybody  for  duties  so 
peculiar,  and  he  had  no  time  and  labor  to  spare,  especially  if 
the  embarrassment  should  recur  as  often  as  it  had  heretofore. 
Thinking,  from  my  connection  with  Harvard  College,  where  I 
was  then  at  the  head  of  the  department  of  Modern  Literature, 
that  I  might  be  acquainted  with  some  young  man  who,  on 
completing  his  academic  career,  would  be  willing  to  become 
his  secretary  for  a  considerable  period,  he  addressed  himself  to 
me.  I  advised  with  the  instructors  in  the  four  modern  lan¬ 
guages,  who  knew  the  especial  qualifications  of  their  pupils 
better  than  I  did,  and  a  fortunate  result  was  soon  reached. 
Mr.  James  L.  English,  who  was  then  a  member  of  the  College, 
accepted  a  proposition  to  study  his  profession  in  the  office  of 
Mr.  Prescott,  senior,  and  of  his  son-in-law,  Mr.  Dexter,  who 
was  then  associated  with  the  elder  Mr.  Prescott  as  a  counsellor, 
and  at  the  same  time  to  read  and  write  for  the  son  five  or  six 
hours  every  day.  This  arrangement  did  not,  however,  take 
effect  until  after  Mr.  English  was  graduated,  in  1827  ;  and  it 
continued,  much  to  the  satisfaction  of  both  parties,  for  four 
years.  It  was  the  happy  beginning  of  a  new  order  of  things 
for  the  studies  of  the  liistorian,  and  one  which,  with  different 
secretaries  or  readers,  he  was  able  to  keep  up  to  the  last.12 

During  the  interval  of  almost  a  year,  which  immediately  pre- 


n  Mr.  George  Lunt. 

12  Mr.  Prescott’s  different  readers  and  secretaries  were,  as  nearly  as  I  can 
remember  and  make  out,  —  George  R.  M.  Withington,  for  a  short  period, 
which  I  cannot  exactly  determine ;  George  Lunt,  1825-26;  Hamilton  Parker, 
1826-27  ;  James  Lloyd  English,  1827-31;  Henry  Cheever  Siinonds,  1881- 
35;  E.  Dwight  Williams,  1835-40;  George  F.  Ware,  1840-42;  Edmund  B. 
Otis,  1842-46;  George  F.  Ware  again,  1846-47;  Robert  Carter,  1847-48; 
John  Foster  Kirk,  1848-59. 


STUDIES  OF  A  YEAR. 


79 


ceded  the  commencement  of  Mr.  English’s  services,  nothing 
is  more  striking  than  the  amount  and  thoroughness  of  Mr. 
Prescott’s  studies.  It  in  fact  was  a  broad  basis  that  he  now 
began  to  lay,  in  defiance  of  all  the  difficulties  that  beset  him, 
for  a  superstructure  which  yet,  as  he  clearly  foresaw,  could  be 
erected  only  after  a  very  long  interval,  if,  indeed,  he  should 
ever  be  permitted  to  erect  it.  It  was,  too,  a  basis  laid  in  the 
most  deliberate  manner,  slowly  and  surely ;  for,  as  he  could  not 
now  read  at  all  himself,  every  page,  as  it  was  listened  to,  had  to 
be  carefully  considered,  and  its  contents  carefully  appropriated. 
Among  the  books  thus  read  to  him  were  Montesquieu’s  “  Spirit 
of  Laws,”  Enfield’s  “  History  of  Philosophy,”  Smith’s  “  Wealth 
of  Nations,”  Hallam’s  “  Middle  Ages,”  Blackstone’s  “  Commen¬ 
taries,”  Vol.  L,  Millar’s  “  English  Government,”  the  four  con¬ 
cluding  volumes  of  Gibbon,  parts  of  Turner’s  “  History  of  Eng¬ 
land,”  parts  of  Mosheim’s  “Ecclesiastical  History”  and  of  John 
Muller’s  “  Universal  History,”  Mills’s  “  History  of  Chivalry,” 
the  Memoirs  of  Com  mines,  Robertson’s  “  Charles  the  Fifth,” 
and  his  “  America,”  and  Watson’s  “  Philip  the  Second.”  Be¬ 
sides  all  this,  he  listened  to  translations  of  Plato’s  “  Phasdo,”  of 
Epictetus,  of  the  Meditations  of  Marcus  Aurelius,  and  of  Cice¬ 
ro’s  “  Tusculan  Questions  ”  and  “  Letters  ” ;  and,  finally,  he 
went  in  the  same  way  through  portions  of  Sismondi’s  “  Rdpub- 
liques  Italiennes  ”  in  the  original,  as  an  experiment,  and  be¬ 
came  persuaded,  from  the  facility  with  which  he  understood  it 
when  read  at  the  rate  of  twenty-four  pages  an  hour,  that  he 
should  meet  with  no  absolutely  insurmountable  obstacle  in  the 
prosecution  of  any  of  his  historical  plans.  Everything,  there¬ 
fore,  went  according  to  his  wish,  and  seemed  propitious  ;  but 
his  eyes  remained  in  a  very  bad  state.  He  was  often  in  a  dark 
room,  and  never  able  to  use  them  for  any  of  the  practical  pur¬ 
poses  of  study.13 

18  He  makes  hardly  a  note  about  his  opinion  on  the  authors  embraced  in 
his  manifold  studies  this  year,  from  want  of  sight  to  do  it.  But  what  he  re¬ 
cords  about  Robertson  and  Watson,  brief  as  it  is,  is  worth  notice,  because 
these  writers  both  come  upon  his  chosen  track.  “  Robertson’s  extensive  sub¬ 
ject,”  he  says,  “  is  necessarily  deficient  in  connection;  but  a  lively  interest  is 
kept  up  by  a  perpetual  succession  of  new  discoveries  and  brilliant  adventures, 
seasoned  with  sagacious  reflections,  and  enriched  with  a  clear  and  vigorous 
diction.”  In  some  remarks  concerning  Charles  V.,  thirty  years  later,  he  does 
Dr.  Robertson  the  homage  of  calling  him  “  the  illustrious  Scottish  historian,” 


80 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


Still,  as  always,  his  spirits  rose  with  the  occasion,  and  his 
courage  proved  equal  to  Ids  spirits.  He  had  a  large  part  of 
the  Spanish  grammar  read  over  to  him,  that  he  might  feel 
quite  sure-footed  in  the  language,  and  then,  confirming  anew 
Ids  determination  to  write  the  History  of  Ferdinand  and  Isa¬ 
bella,  he  pushed  vigorously  forward  with  his  investigations  in 
that  direction. 

He  read,  or  rather  listened  tc,  Koch’s  “  Revolutions  de 
l’Europe”;  Voltaire’s  “  Essai  sur  les  Moeurs”;  Gibbon,  so  far 
as  the  Visigoths  in  Spain  are  concerned ;  and  Conde’s  “  Spanish 
Arabs.”  As  he  approached  Ids  main  subject  more  nearly,  he 
went  through  the  reigns  of  several  of  the  preceding  and  follow¬ 
ing  Spanish  sovereigns  in  F erreras’s  General  History  of  Spain, 
as  well  as  in  Rabbe,  Morales,  and  Bigland;  adding  the  whole  of 
Gaillard’s  “  Rivalite  de  la  France  et  de  l’Espagne,”  and  of  the 
Abbe  Mignot’s  meagre  “  Ilistoire  de  Ferdinand  et  Isabelle.” 
The  geography  of  the  country  he  had  earlier  studied  on  minute 
maps,  when  his  eyes  had  for  a  short  time  permitted  such  use 
of  them,  and  he  now  endeavored  to  make  himself  familiar  with 
the  Spanish  people  and  their  national  character,  by  listening  to 
such  travellers  as  Bourgoing  and  Townsend.  Finally,  he  fin¬ 
ished  tins  part  of  his  preparation  by  going  afresh  over  the  con¬ 
cluding  portions  of  Mariana’s  eloquent  History ;  thus  obtaining 
from  so  many  different  sources,  not  only  a  sufficient  and  more 
than  sufficient  mere  basis  for  his  own  work,  but  from  Mariana 
the  best  general  outline  for  it  that  existing  materials  could  fur¬ 
nish.  It  is  not  easy  to  see  how  he  could  have  been  more  thor¬ 
ough  and  careful,  even  if  he  had  enjoyed  the  full  use  of  iiis 
sight,  nor  how,  with  such  an  infirmity,  he  could  deliberately 
have  undertaken  and  carried  out  a  course  of  merely  preparatory 
studies  so  ample  and  minute. 

But  he  perceived  thb  peculiar  embarrassments,  as  well  as  the 
great  resources,  of  his  subject,  and  endeavored  to  provide  against 
them  by  long  consideration  and  reflection  beforehand.  In  his 
Memoranda  he  says  :  — • 

but  enters  into  no  discussion  of  his  peculiar  merits.  Of  Watson,  on  the  con¬ 
trary,  in  his  private  notes  of  1S27,  he  says  that  he  is  “  a  meagre  uuphilosoph- 
icai  chronicler  of  the  richest  period  of  Spanish  history  an  opinion  substan¬ 
tially  confirmed  in  the  Preface  to  his  own  Philip  II.,  in  1855,  where  a  com¬ 
pliment  is  paid  to  Robertson  at  Watson’s  expense. 


VIEW  OF  HIS  SUBJECT. 


81 


“  I  must  not  be  too  fastidious,  nor  too  anxious  to  amass  every  authority 
that  can  bear  upon  the  subject.  The  materials  that  will  naturally  offer 
themselves  to  me  are  abundant  enough,  in  all  conscience.  Whatever  I 
write  will  have  the  merit  at  least  of  novelty  to  an  English  reader.  In 
such  parts  of  the  subject,  therefore,  as  have  been  well  treated  by  French 
writers,  I  had  better  take  them  pretty  closely  for  my  guides,  without  troub¬ 
ling  myself  to  hunt  more  deeply,  except  only  for  corroborative  authorities, 
which  can  be  easily  done.  It  is  fortunate  that  this  subject  is  little  known 
to  English  readers,  while  many  parts  of  it  have  been  ably  discussed  by 
accessible  foreign  writers,  —  such  as  Marina  and  Sempere  for  the  Consti¬ 
tution  ;  Llorente  for  the  Inquisition ;  the  sixth  volume  of  the  Historical 
Transactions  of  the  Spanish  Academy  for  the  influence  and  many  details 
of  Isabella’s  reign,  &c. ;  Elechier  for  the  life  of  Ximenes  ;  Varillas  for  the 
foreign  policy  of  Ferdinand ;  Sismondi  for  the  Italian  wars  and  for  the 
general  state  of  Italian  and  European  politics  in  that  age,  while  the  reflec¬ 
tions  of  this  historian  passim  may  furnish  me  with  many  good  hints  in  an 
investigation  of  the  Spanish  history  and  politics.” 

This  was  the  view  he  took  of  his  subject,  as  he  fully  con¬ 
fronted  it  for  the  first  time,  and  considered  how,  with  such  use 
of  his  eyes  as  he  then  had,  he  could  best  address  himself  to  the 
necessary  examination  of  his  authorities.  But  he  now,  and  for 
some  time  subsequent,  contemplated  a  shorter  work  than  the  one 
he  finally  wrote,  and  a  work  of  much  less  learned  pretensions. 
As,  however,  he  advanced,  he  found  that  the  most  minute 
investigations,  such  as  he  had  above  considered  beyond  his 
reach,  would  be  both  necessary  and  agreeable.  He  began, 
therefore,  very  soon,  to  examine  all  the  original  sources  with 
painstaking  perseverance,  and  to  compare  them,  not  only  with 
each  other,  but  with  the  interpretations  that  had  subsequently 
been  put  upon  them.  He  struck  much  more  widely  and 
boldly  than  he  had  intended  or  thought  important.  In  short, 
he  learned  —  and  he  learned  it  soon  —  that  it  is  necessary  for 
a  conscientious  author  to  read  everything  upon  the  subject  he 
means  to  discuss  ;  the  poor  and  bad  books,  as  well  as  those 
upon  which  his  reliance  will  ultimately  be  placed.  He  cannot 
otherwise  feel  strong  or  safe. 

Mr.  Prescott  had  just  reached  this  point  in  his  studies,  when, 
in  the  autumn  of  1827,  Mr.  English  became  his  reader  and 
secretary.  The  first  collection  of  books  and  manuscripts  from 
Madrid  had  been  received  a  little  earlier.  But  they  had  not 
yet  been  used.  They  had  come  at  a  most  unlucky  moment, 
when  his  eye  was  in  a  more  than  commonly  suffering  state,  and 

4  *  F 


82 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PKESCOTT. 


they  presented  anything  but  a  cheerful  prospect  to  him,  as  they 
lay  unpacked  and  spread  out  on  the  floor  of  his  study.  As  he 
said  long  afterwards,  “  In  my  disabled  condition,  with  my  Trans¬ 
atlantic  treasures  lying  around  me,  I  was  like  one  pining  from 
hunger  in  the  midst  of  abundance.” 14 

But  he  went  to  work  in  earnest  with  Ins  new  secretary.  The 
room  in  which  they  sat  was  an  upper  one  in  the  back  part  of 
the  fine  old  house  in  Bedford  Street,  retired  and  quiet,  and 
every  way  well  fitted  for  its  purpose.  Mr.  English,  in  an 
interesting  letter  to  me,  thus  truly  describes  it. 

“  Two  sides  of  the  room,”  he  says,  “  were  lined  with  books  from  floor 
to  ceiling.  On  the  easterly  side  was  a  green  screen,  which  darkened  that 
part  of  the  room  towards  which  he  turned  his  face  as  he  sat  at  his  ■writing- 
table.  On  the  westerly  side  was  one  window  covered  by  several  curtains 
of  light-blue  muslin,  so  arranged  that  any  one  of  them  could  be  wholly  or 
partially  raised,  and  thus  temper  the  light  exactly  to  the  ability  of  his  eye 
to  bear  it,  as  the  sky  might  happen  to  be  bright  or  cloudy,  or  his  eye  more 
or  less  sensitive.  In  the  centre  of  the  room  stood  his  writing-table,  at 
which  he  sat  in  a  rocking-chair  with  his  back  towards  the  curtained  win¬ 
dow,  and  sometimes  with  a  green  shade  over  his  eyes.  When  we  had  a 
fire,  he  used  only  coke  in  the  grate,  as  giving  out  no  flame,  and  he  fre¬ 
quently  placed  a  screen  between  himself  and  the  grate  to  keep  off  the 
glare  of  the  embers.  At  the  northwesterly  corner  of  the  room  was  the  only 
window  not  partly  or  wholly  darkened.  It  was  set  high  up  in  the  wall, 
and  under  it  was  my  chair.  I  was  thus  brought  a  short  distance  from  his 
left  side,  and  rather  behind  him,  —  as  a  sailor  would  say,  on  his  quarter. 
In  this  position  I  read  aloud  to  him  regularly  every  day,  from  ten  o’clock 
in  the  forenoon  to  two  in  the  afternoon,  and  from  about  six  in  the  evening 
to  eight.” 

They  began  by  reading  portions  of  Llorente’s  “  Histoire  de 
l’lnquisition  ”  ;  but  their  first  serious  attack  was  on  the  chroni¬ 
cles  of  Andres  Bemaldez,  not  then  printed,  but  obtained  by 
him  in  manuscript  from  Madrid,  —  a  gossiping,  amusing  book, 
whose  accounts  extend  from  1488  to  1513,  and  are  particularly 
important  for  the  Moorish  wars  and  the  life  of  Columbus.  But 
the  young  secretary  found  it  very  hard  reading. 

“  A  huge  parchment-covered  manuscript,”  he  calls  Bcrnaldez,  “  my  old 
enemy ;  from  whose  pages  I  read  and  reread  so  many  hours  that  I  shall 
never  forget  him.  Mr.  Prescott  considered  the  book  a  great  acquisition, 
and  would  sit  for  hours  hearing  me  read  it  in  the  Spanish,  —  at  first  with 
great  difficulty  and  until  I  got  familiar  with  the  chirography.  How  he 
could  understand  me  at  first,  as  I  blundered  along,  I  could  not  conceive. 


14  Conquest  of  Peru,  (1867),  Vol.  I.  p.  xvi. 


MODES  OF  WORK. 


83 


If  he  was  annoyed,  —  as  he  well  might  be,  —  he  never  betrayed  his  feelings 
to  me. 

“  lie  seemed  fully  conscious  of  the  difficulty  of  the  task  before  him,  but 
resolutely  determined  to  accomplish  it,  if  human  patience  and  perseverance 
could  do  so.  As  I  read  any  passages  which  he  wished  to  impress  on  his 
memory,  he  would  say,  ‘  Mark  that,’  —  that  is,  draw  parallel  lines  in  the 
margin  with  a  pencil  against  it.  He  used  also  to  take  a  note  or  memo¬ 
randum  of  anything  he  wished  particularly  to  remember,  with  a  reference 
to  it.  His  wiiting  apparatus  always  lay  open  before  him  on  the  table,  and 
he  usually  sat  with  his  ivory  style  in  hand,  ready  to  make  his  notes  of 
reference.15  These  notes  I  afterwards  copied  out  in  a  very  large  round 
ihand  for  his  future  use,  and,  when  he  began  actually  to  write  the  history, 
would  read  them  over  and  verify  the  reference  by  the  original  authority, 
if  he  required  it.  I  think,  however,  he  did  not  very  often  find  it  necessary 
to  refer  to  the  book,  as  he  seemed  to  have  cultivated  his  memory  to  a  very 
high  degree,  and  had,  besides,  a  habit  of  reflecting  upon  and  arranging  in 
his  mind,  or  ‘  digesting,’  as  he  phrased  it,  the  morning’s  reading  while  sit¬ 
ting  alone  afterwards  in  his  study.  A  graphic  phrase  it  was,  too,  consid¬ 
ering  that  he  rook  in  through  his  ears  I  don’t  know  how  many  pages  at  a 
four  hours’  session  of  steady  reading.  The  wonder  was,  how  he  could 
find  time  to  ‘  digest  ’  such  a  load  between  the  sessions.  But  thus  he  fixed 
the  substance  of  what  had  been  read  to  him  in  his  mind,  and  impressed  the 
results  of  the  forenoon’s  work  on  his  memory. 

“  When  I  first  began  to  read  to  Mr.  Prescott,  his  eye  was  in  a  very  sen¬ 
sitive  state,  and  he  did  not  attempt  to  use  it  at  all.  After  some  months, 
however,  it  got  stronger,  and  he  would  sit  at  the  curtained  window,  with  a 
volume  open  upon  a  frame  on  a  stand,  and  read  himself,  marking  passages 
as  he  went  along.  While  so  reading,  he  would  frequently  raise  or  lower, 
wholly  or  partially,  one  or  more  of  the  blue  curtains.  Each  of  them  had 
its  separate  cord,  which  he  knew  as  well  as  a  sailor  knows  his  ropes.  Every 
little  white  cloud  that  passed  across  the  sky  required  a  change  in  the  ar¬ 
rangement  of  these  curtains,  so  sensitive  was  his  eye  to  a  variation  of  light 
imperceptible  to  me.  But  it  was  only  a  portion  of  the  time  that  he  could 
do  this.  His  eye  would  give  way  or  he  would  feel  symptoms  of  return¬ 
ing  trouble,  and  then,  for  weeks  together,  he  would  be  compelled  to  take 
his  old  seat  in  the  rocking-chair,  and  return  to  the  slow  process  of  listening 
and  marking  passages,  and  having  his  notes  and  memoranda  read  over  to 
him  as  at  first.” 

How  sound  and  practical  his  general  views  were  can  be  seen 
from  his  plan  of  work  at  this  moment,  when  he  had  deter¬ 
mined  what  he  would  do,  but  did  not  think  himself  nearly 
ready  even  to  begin  the  actual  composition  of  the  History  itself. 
In  October,  1828,  when  they  had  been  at  work  for  a  year 
in  this  preparatory  reading,  but  during  which  his  private 

I®  His  peculiar  writing  apparatus,  already  alluded  to,  will  be  presently 
described.  It  was  the  noctograph,  which  he  had  obtained  in  England. 


84 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


memoranda,  owing  to  the  state  of  his  eye,  had  been  very 
meagre,  he  says  :  — 

“  By  the  intermixture  of  reading  for  a  given  chapter  and  then  writing 
for  it,  I  shall  be  able,  with  the  relief  which  this  alternate  occupation  will 
give  my  eyes,  to  accomplish  a  good  deal  with  them,  I  trust.  After  I  have 
finished  Bcmaldez’s  manuscript  and  the  few  remaining  pages  of  Herreras, 
and  looked  through  the  ‘  Modern  Universal  History  ’  from  the  accession  of 
the  house  of  Trastamara  to  the  end  of  the  reigns  of  the  Catholic  kings,  and 
looked  into  Marina’s  ‘  Theory  of  the  Cortes,’  which  will  scarcely  require 
more  than  a  fortnight,  I  shall  be  prepared  to  begin  to  read  for  my  first 
chapter.” 

He  added  to  this  a  syllabus  of  what,  from  the  point  of  view 
at  which  he  then  stood,  he  thought  might  be  the  arrangement 
of  his  materials  for  the  first  two  chapters  of  his  work ;  noting 
the  length  of  time  he  might  need  to  prepare  himself  to  begin 
to  write,  and  afterwards  the  time  necessary  to  complete  them. 
That  he  was  willing  to  he  patient  is  clear  from  the  fact  that 
he  allowed  two  hundred  and  fifty-six  days,  or  eight  months 
and  a  half  to  this  preparatory  reading,  although  he  had  already 
been  two  years,  more  or  less,  on  the  work ;  and  that  he  was 
not  to  be  discouraged  by  slowness  of  actual  progress  is  equally 
clear,  for,  although  it  was  above  fourteen  months  before  he 
finished  this  part  of  his  task,  yet  at  the  end  of  that  time  hie 
courage  and  hopes  were  as  high  as  ever. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


1829  -  1837. 

J>eath  of  ms  Daughter.  —  Inquiries  into  the  Truth  of  the  Chris¬ 
tian  Religion.  —  Results.  —  Examines  toe  History  of  the  Span¬ 
ish  Arabs.  —  Reviews  Irving’s  “Granada.”  —  Studies  for  his 
Work  on  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.  —  Begins  to  write  it.  —  Re¬ 
gard  for  Marly  and  Clkmencin.  —  Progress  of  iiis  Work.  —  Ax 
Pepperell.  —  At  Naiiant.  —  Finishes  the  “  History  of  Ferdi¬ 
nand  and  Isabella.” 

THE  long  delay  referred  to  in  the  last  chapter  was  in 
part  owing  to  a  severe  sorrow  which  fell  on  him  in  the 
winter  of  1828  -  9,  and  stopped  him  in  mid-career.  On  the  1st 
of  February,  the  eldest  of  his  two  children  died.  It  was  a 
daughter,  born  on  the  23d  of  September,  1824,  and  therefore 
four  years  and  four  or  five  months  old,  —  a  charming,  gentle 
child  of  much  promise,  who  had  been  named  after  her  grand 
mother,  Catherine  Hickling.  He  had  doted  on  her.  His 
mother  said  most  truly,  writing  to  Mrs.  Ticknor  in  1825  :  “  It 
is  a  very  nice  little  girl,  and  William  is  one  of  the  happiest 
fathers  you  ever  saw.  All  the  time  he  can  spare  from  Italian 
and  Spanish  studies  is  devoted  to  this  little  pet.”  Mr.  English 
remembers  well  how  she  used  to  be  permitted  to  come  into  the 
study,  and  interrupt  whatever  work  was  going  on  there,  much 
to  his  own  satisfaction  as  well  as  to  the  father’s,  for  her  en¬ 
gaging  ways  had  won  the  secretary’s  love  too.  The  shock  of  her 
death  was  very  great,  and  was,  besides,  somewhat  sudden.  1 
have  seldom  seen  sorrow  more  deep  ;  and,  what  was  remark¬ 
able,  the  grandfather  and  grandmother  were  so  much  overcome 
by  it  as  to  need  the  consolation  they  would  otherwise  have 
gladly  given.  It  was,  indeed,  a  much  distressed  house.1 

1  In  a  letter  dated  June  30,  1844,  to  Don  Pascual  de  Gayangos,  who  had 
just  suffered  from  the  loss  of  a  young  child,  Mr.  Prescott  says,  “  A  similar 
calamity  befell  me  some  years  since.  It  was  my  favorite  child,  taken  away 
at  the  age  of  four,  when  all  the  loveliness  and  vivacity  of  the  character  is 
opening  upon  us.  I  never  can  suffer  again  as  I  then  did.  It  was  my  first 
heavy  sorrow ;  and  I  suppose  we  cannot  feel  twice  so  bitterly.” 


86 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


But  the  father  wrought  out  consolation  for  himself  in  his  own 
way.  A  fortnight  after  the  death  of  his  child  he  records :  — 

“February  15th,  1829.  —  The  death  of  my  dearest  daughter  on  the 
first  day  of  this  month  having  made  it  impossible  for  me  at  present  to  re¬ 
sume  the  task  of  composition,  I  have  been  naturally  led  to  more  serious 
reflection  than  usual,  and  have  occupied  myself  with  reviewing  the  grounds 
of  the  decision  which  I  made  in  1819  in  favor  of  the  evidences  of  the 
Christian  revelation.  I  have  endeavored  and  shall  endeavor  to  prosecute 
this  examination  with  perfect  impartiality,  and  to  guard  against  the  pres¬ 
ent  state  of  my  feelings  influencing  my  mind  any  further  than  by  leading 
it  to  give  to  the  subject  a  more  serious  attention.  And,  so  far,  such  influ¬ 
ence  must  be  salutary  and  reasonable,  and  far  more  desirable  than  any 
counter  influence  which  might  be  exerted  by  any  engrossing  occupation 
with  the  cares  and  dissipation  of  the  world.  So  far,  I  believe,  I  have  con¬ 
ducted  the  matter  with  sober  impartiality.” 

What  he  did  on  this  subject,  as  on  all  others,  he  did  thor¬ 
oughly  and  carefully.  His  secretary  read  to  him  the  principal 
books  which  it  was  then  considered  important  to  go  through 
when  making  a  fair  examination  of  the  supernatural  claims  of 
Christianity.  Among  them,  on  the  one  side,  were  Hume’s 
“  Essays,”  and  especially  the  one  on  Miracles ;  Gibbon’s  fif¬ 
teenth  chapter,  and  parts  of  the  sixteenth  ;  Middleton’s  “  Free 
Inquiry,”  which  whatever  were  its  author’s  real  opinions,  leans 
towards  unbelief ;  and  Soame  Jenyns’s  somewhat  easy  discus¬ 
sion  of  the  Evidences,  which  is  yet  not  wanting  in  hidden  skill 
and  acuteness.  On  the  other  hand,  he  took  Watson’s  “Apol¬ 
ogy  ”  ;  Brown’s  “  Lectures,”  so  far  as  they  are  an  amplification 
of  his  admirably  condensed  “  Essay  on  Cause  and  Effect  ”  : 
several  of  Waterland’s  treatises;  Butler’s  “Analogy”  and  Pa- 
ley’s  “  Evidences,”  with  the  portions  of  Lardner  needful  to 
explain  and  illustrate  them.  The  last  three  works  he  valued 
more  than  all  the  others.  But  I  think  he  relied  mainly  upon  a 
careful  reading  of  the  Four  Gospels,  and  an  especial  inquiry 
into  each  one  of  the  Saviour’s  miracles,  as  related  by  each  of 
the  Evangelists.  This  investigation  he  made  with  his  father’s 
assistance  ;  and,  when  it  was  over,  he  said  that  he  considered 
such  an  examination,  made  with  an  old  and  learned  lawyer,  was 
a  sufficient  pledge  for  the  severity  of  his  scrutiny.  He  might 
have  added,  that  it  was  the  safer,  because  the  person  who 
helped  him  in  making  it  was  not  only  a  man  of  uncommon 
fairness  of  mind,  perspicacity,  and  wisdom,  but  one  who  was 


TRUTH  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


87 


very  cautious,  and,  on  all  matters  of  evidence,  had  a  tendency 
to  scepticism  rather  than  credulity. 

The  conclusions  at  which  he  arrived  were,  that  the  narra¬ 
tives  of  the  Gospels  were  authentic ;  that,  after  so  careful  an 
examination  of  them,  he  ought  not  to .  permit  his  mind  to  be 
disturbed  on  the  same  question  again,  unless  he  should  be  able 
to  make  an  equally  faithful  revision  of  the  whole  subject ;  and 
that,  even  if  Christianity  were  not  a  divine  revelation,  no  sys¬ 
tem  of  morals  was  so  likely  to  fit  him  for  happiness  here  and 
hereafter.  But  he  did  not  find  in  the  Gospels,  or  in  any  part 
of  the  New  Testament,  the  doctrines  commonly  accounted 
orthodox,  and  he  deliberately  recorded  his  rejection  of  them. 
On  one  minor  point,  too,  he  was  very  explicit.  He  declared  his 
purpose  to  avoid  all  habits  of  levity  on  religious  topics.  And 
to  this  purpose,  I  believe,  he  adhered  rigorously  through  life. 
At  least,  I  am  satisfied  that  I  never  heard  him  use  light  expres¬ 
sions  or  allusions  of  any  kind  when  speaking  of  Christianity,  or 
when  referring  to  the  Scriptures.  His  mind,  in  fact,  was  rev¬ 
erential  in  its  very  nature,  and  so  was  his  father’s.2 

After  a  few  weeks  devoted  to  these  inquiries,  he  resumed 
his  accustomed  studies.  At  the  moment  when  they  had  been 
broken  off,  he  was  not  employed  regularly  on  his  History.  He 
had  already  stepped  aside  to  write  an  article  for  the  “  North- 
American  Review.”  During  eight  years  he  had  been  in  the 
habit  occasionally  of  contributing  what  he  sometimes  called 
“  his  peppercorn  ”  to  that  well-established  and  respectable  peri¬ 
odical  ;  regarding  his  contributions  as  an  exercise  in  writing 
which  could  not  fail  to  be  useful  to  him.  His  first  experiments 

2  It  was  noticed  by  one  of  the  members  of  his  Club, —  Dr.  John  Ware, 
whose  judgment  and  acuteness  render  his  observation  important,  —  that  Mr. 
Prescott  was  much  interested  whenever  the  subject  of  religion,  or  anything 
that  claimed  to  be  connected  with  the  spiritual  world,  came  up  in  the  familiar 
discussions  of  their  meetings.  “He  was  always  desirous,”  says  Dr.  Ware, 
u  to  hear  something  about  magnetism,  when  that  was  in  vogue,  and  still  more 
about  spiritual  manifestations,  when  they  came  in  fashion.”  This  falls  in 
with  my  owu  recollections  and  impressions.  He  went  once  certainly,  and  I 
think  more  than  once,  to  witness  the  exhibitions  of  a  medium.  But  no  effect 
was  produced  on  his  mind.  He  was  always  slow  of  belief.  His  historical  judg¬ 
ments  prove  this,  and  what  he  saw  of  “  the  manifestations,”  as  they  were 
called,  rested  on  nothing  like  the  evidence  he  was  accustomed  to  require. 
Besides,  they  offended  the  sentiment  of  reverence,  which,  as  I  have  said 
was  strong  in  his  whole  nature. 


68 


WILLIAM  IIICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


of  this  sort,  saving  always  the  youthful  failure  already  recorded, 
were,  I  suppose,  two  short  articles,  in  1821,  on  Sprague’s  beau¬ 
tifully  prize  “  Ode  to  Shakespeare,”  and  on  Byron’s  Letter 
upon  Pope.  These  had  been  followed,  with  the  regularity 
that  marked  almost  everything  he  did,  by  a  single  article  on 
some  literary  subject  every  succeeding  year.  It  was  an  excel¬ 
lent  discipline  for  him  as  a  beginner,  and  although,  from  the  slow¬ 
ness  witli  which  he  necessarily  worked,  it  took  much  time,  he 
never,  I  think,  seriously  regretted  the  sacrifice  it  implied. 

But  now,  being  engrossed  with  his  inquiries  into  early  Span 
ish  history,  he  preferred  to  take  a  subject  immediately  con¬ 
nected  with  them.  He  wrote,  therefore,  an  article  on  Conde's 
“  History  of  the  Arabs  in  Spain,”  comprising  a  general  view  of 
the  Arabian  character  and  civilization.  It  was  prepared  with 
great  care.  He  gave  much  time  to  previous  reading  and  study 
on  the  subject,  —  I  do  not  know  exactly  how  much,  but  cer¬ 
tainly  three  months,  probably  four,  —  and  it  was  not  till  nearly 
seven  months  after  he  first  began  to  collect  materials  for  the 
article  that  it  was  completed  ; 8  from  which,  however,  should 
be  deducted  the  sorrowful  period  of  several  weeks  that  preceded 
and  followed  his  little  daughter’s  death.  But,  after  all,  lie  did 
not  send  it  to  the  periodical  publication  for  which  it  had  been 
written.  He  found,  perhaps,  that  it  was  too  important  for  his 
own  ulterior  purposes ;  certainly,  that  it  was  not  fitted  for  the 
more  popular  tone  of  such  a  work  as  the  “  North  American.” 
Substituting  for  it,  therefore,  a  pleasant  article  on  Irving’s 
“  Conquest  of  Granada,”  which  had  cost  him  much  less  labor, 
but  which  was  quite  as  interesting,  he  laid  the  one  on  Coude 
quietly  aside,  and  finally,  with  some  modifications,  used  it  as 
the  eighth  chapter  in  the  First  Part  of  his  “  Ferdinand  and  Isa¬ 
bella,”  where  it  stands  now,  an  admirable  foreground  to  the 
brilliant  picture  of  the  siege  and  fall  of  Granada4 

8  The  manuscript  notes  for  this  article,  now  before  me,  are  extraordinarily 
elaborate  and  minute.  They  fill  two  hundred  and  forty-four  large  foolscap 
pages,  and  have  an  index  to  them. 

4  Mr.  Bancroft,  in  a  review  of  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  selects  this  chap 
ter  as  a  happy  illustration  of  the  faithful  industry  with  which  the  work  is 
written.  “  Let  any  American  scholar,”  he  says,  “  turn,  for  instance,  to  the 
chapter  on  the  literature  of  the  Saracens,  and  ask  himself,  how  long  a  period 
would  be  required  to  prepare  for  writing  it.”  —  Democratic  Review,  (1838,) 
Vol.  II.  p.  1G2. 


IRVING’S  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


89 


It  was  June,  1829,  before  be  returned  to  bis  regular  read¬ 
ings  preparatory  to  the  actual  composition  of  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella.  In  his  more  leisure  hours,  generally  in  the  evening, 
he  went  over  several  works,  half  biography,  half  history, — 
such  as  Miss  Aildn’s  “  Queen  Elizabeth,”  Voltaire’s  “  Charles 
XII.,”  and  Roscoe’s  “Lorenzo  de’ Medici”  and  his  “Leo  X.,” — 
to  see  if  he  could  glean  from  them  any  ideas  for  the  general 
management  of  his  subject ;  while,  for  easy,  finished  narrative, 
he  listened  to  large  portions  of  Barante’s  “  Dues  de  Bour¬ 
gogne,”  and  studied  with  some  care  Thierry,  —  the  marvellous, 
blind  Thierry,  — for  whom  he  always  felt  a  strong  sympathy  in 
consequence  of  their  common  misfortune,  and  to  whose  manner 
of  treating  history  with  a  free  citation  of  the  old  ballads  and 
clironicles  he  was  much  inclined.  From  all  this,  perhaps,  he 
gained  little,  except  warnings  what  to  avoid.  At  the  same 
time,  however,  that  he  was  doing  it,  he  gave  his  forenoons  to 
the  direct,  severe  study  of  his  subject.  He  advanced  slowly, 
to  be  sure ;  for  his  eyes  were  in  a  very  bad  state,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  depend  entirely  on  his  reader  when  going  through 
even  such  important  works  as  those  of  Marina  and  Sempere 
on  the  Cortes,  and  Palencia’s  Chronicle  of  the  time  of  Henry 
IV.  Still  he  got  on,  and,  in  the  course  of  the  summer,  pre¬ 
pared  an  elaborate  synopsis  of  the  chief  events  to  be  discussed 
in  his  contemplated  history  ;  all  chronologically  arranged  from 
1454,  when  John  II.,  Isabella’s  father,  died,  to  1516,  the 
date  of  Ferdinand’s  death,  which,  of  course,  would  close  the 
work. 

From  this  synopsis,  and  especially  from  the  estimate  it  in¬ 
volved  of  the  proportions  of  its  different  divisions,  he,  indeed, 
sometimes  varied,  as  his  ample  materials  were  unrolled  before 
him.  But  the  whole  plan,  as  he  then  digested  it,  shows  that 
he  had  mastered  the  outline  of  his  subject,  and  comprehended 
justly  the  relations  and  combinations  of  its  various  parts.  He 
thought,  however,  that  he  could  bring  it  all  into  two  moderate 
volumes  in  octavo.  In  this  he  was  mistaken.  The  work,  from 
Iris  thorough  and  faithful  treatment  of  it,  grew  under  his 
hands,  and  the  world  is  not  sorry  that  at  last  it  was  extended 
to  three. 

On  the  6th  of  October,  1829,  —  three  years  and  a  half  from 


90 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


the  time  when  he  had  selected  his  subject,  and  begun  to  work 
upon  it,  —  he  finally  broke  ground  with  its  actual  composition. 
He  had  then  been  three  months  reading  and  taking  notes  ex¬ 
clusively  for  the  first  chapter.  It  was  a  month  before  that 
chapter  was  finished,  and  afterwards  it  was  all  rewritten. 
Two  months  more  brought  him  to  the  end  of  the  third  chap¬ 
ter  ;  and,  although  the  space  filled  by  the  three  so  greatly 
overran  the  estimate  in  his  synopsis  as  to  alarm  him,  he  still 
felt  that  he  had  made  good  progress,  and  took  courage.  He 
was,  in  fact,  going  on  at  a  rate  which  would  make  his  History 
fill  five  volumes,  and  yet  it  was  long  before  he  gave  up  the 
struggle  to  keep  it  down  to  two.  Similar  trouble  he  encoun¬ 
tered  all  the  way  through  his  work.  He  was  constantly  over¬ 
running  his  own  calculations,  and  unreasonably  dissatisfied 
with  himself  for  his  mistakes  and  bad  reckoning. 

Two  things  are  noteworthy  at  this  stage  of  his  progress, 
because  one  of  them  influenced  the  whole  of  his  subsequent 
life  as  an  historian,  and  the  other  did  much  towards  giving  a 
direction  and  tone  to  his  discussion  of  the  characters  and  reign 
of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella. 

The  first  is  his  increased  regard  for  Mably  as  a  counsellor 
and  guide.  In  January,  1830,  after  looking  afresh  through 
some  of  Mably’s  works,  there  occurs  the  following  notice  of 
him,  chiefly  with  reference  to  his  treatise  “  Sur  l’Etude  de 
1’  Ilistoire,”  which,  as  we  have  already  noticed,  had  engaged 
his  careful  attention  five  years  earlier : 6  “  He  takes  wide  views, 
and  his  politics  are  characterized  by  directness  and  good  faith. 
I  have  marked  occasionally  passages  in  the  portions  I  have 
looked  over  which  will  be  worth  recurring  to.  I  like  particu¬ 
larly  his  notion  of  the  necessity  of  giving  an  interest  as  well  as 
utility  to  history,  by  letting  events  tend  to  some  obvious  point 
or  moral ;  in  short,  by  paying  such  attention  to  the  develop¬ 
ment  of  events  tending  to  this  leading  result,  as  one  would  in 
the  construction  of  a  romance  or  a  drama.”  A  few  days  after¬ 
wards  he  records  the  way  in  which  he  proposes  to  apply  this 
principle  to  the  “  History  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.”  With 

*  He  calls  Mably  “  a  perspicuous,  severe,  shrewd,  and  sensible  writer,  full 
of  thought,  and  of  such  thoughts  as  set  the  reader  upon  thinking  fot 
himself.” 


USE  OF  MABLY. 


yi 

what  success  he  subsequently  carried  it  out  in  his  “  Conquest 
of  Mexico  ”  need  not  be  told.  In  each  instance  he  was  aware 
of  the  direction  his  work  was  taking,  and  cites  Mably  as  the 
authority  for  it.  The  same  purpose  is  plain  in  the  “  Conquest 
of  Peru,”  although  the  conditions  of  the  case  did  not  permit  it 
to  be  equally  applicable.6 

The  other  circumstance  to  which  I  referred,  as  worthy  of 
notice  at  this  time,  is  Mr.  Prescott’s  increased  and  increasing 
sense  of  the  importance  of  what  Don  Diego  Clemencin  had 
done  in  his  “  Elogio  de  la  Reina  Dona  Isabel,”  for  the  life  of 
that  great  sovereign.  This  remarkable  work,  which,  in  an  im¬ 
perfect  outline,  its  author  had  read  to  the  Spanish  Academy  of 
History  in  1807,  he  afterwards  enlarged  and  enriched,  until, 
when  it  was  published  in  1821,  it  filled  the  whole  of  the  sixth 
ample  volume  of  the  Memoirs  of  that  learned  body.  Mr. 
Prescott,  above  a  year  earlier,  had  consulted  it,  and  placed  it 
among  the  books  to  be  carefully  studied,  but  now  he  used  it 
constantly.  Later,  he  said  it  was  “  a  most  rich  repository  of 
unpublished  facts,  to  be  diligently  studied  by  me  at  every 
pausing  point  in  my  history.”  And  in  a  note  at  the  end  of 
his  sixth  chapter  he  pronounces  it  to  be  a  work  of  inestimable 
service  to  the  historian.  These  tributes  to  the  modest,  faithful 
learning  of  the  Secretary  of  the  Spanish  Academy  of  History, 
who  was  afterwards  its  Director,  are  alike  creditable  to  him 
who  offered  them,  and  to  Don  Diego  de  Clemencin,  who  was 
then  no  longer  among  the  living,  and  to  whom  they  could  not, 
therefore,  be  offered  in  flattery. 

6  In  1841,  when  he  was  occupied  with  the  “  Conquest  of  Mexico,”  he  says, 
“  Have  read  for  the  tenth  time,  ‘  Mably  sur  P Etude  de  l’Histoire,’  full  of  ad¬ 
mirable  reflections  and  hints.  Pity  that  his  love  of  the  ancients  made  him 
high  gravel-blind  to  the  merits  of  the  modems.”  This  treatise,  which  Mr. 
Prescott  studied  with  such  care  and  perseverance,  was  written  by  Mably  as 
a  part  of  the  course  of  instruction  arranged  by  Condillac,  Mably’s  kinsman, 
for  the  use  of  the  heir  to  the  dukedom  of  Parma,  and  it  was  printed  in  1775. 
Mably  was,  no  doubt,  often  extravagant  and  unsound  in  his  opinions,  and  is 
now  little  regarded.  How  the  author  of  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  ”  hit  upon  a 
work  so  generally  overlooked,  I  do  not  know,  except  that  nothing  seemed  to 
escape  him  that  could  be  made  to  serve  his  purpose.  On  another  occasion, 
when  speaking  of  it,  he  implies  that  its  precepts  may  not  be  applicable 
to  political  histories  generally,  which  often  require  a  treatment  more  philo¬ 
sophical.  But  that  he  consulted  it  much  when  writing  the  “  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella,”  and  the  “  Conquest  of  Mexico,”  is  not  doubtful. 


92 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


But  while  the  historian  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  valued 
Mably  and  Clemencin  as  trustworthy  guides,  he  read  every¬ 
thing,  and  judged  and  decided  for  himself  concerning  every¬ 
thing,  as  he  went  on.  His  progress,  indeed,  was  on  these  and 
on  all  accounts  slow.  His  eye  at  this  period  was  not  in  a  con¬ 
dition  to  enable  him  to  use  it  except  with  the  greatest  caution. 
He  sometimes  felt  obliged  to  consider  the  contingency  of  losing 
the  use  of  it  altogether,  and  had  the  courage  to  determine,  even 
in  that  event,  to  go  on  with  his  history.  How  patient  he  must 
have  been,  we  may  judge  from  the  fact,  that,  in  sixteen  months, 
he  was  not  able  to  accomplish  more  than  three  hundred  pages. 
But  neither  then,  nor  at  any  time  afterwards,  was  he  disheart¬ 
ened  by  the  ditliculties  he  encountered.  On  the  contrary,  al 
though  progress  —  perceptible  progress  —  was  very  important 
to  liis  happiness,  he  was  content  to  have  it  veiy  slow.  Some¬ 
times,  however,  he  went  on  more  easily,  and  then  he  was  much 
encouraged.  In  the  summer  of  1832,  when  he  had  been  very 
industrious  for  two  months,  he  wrote  to  me,  “  I  have  disposed 
of  three  chapters  of  my  work,  which  is  pretty  good  hammer¬ 
ing  for  a  Cyclops.”  Such  intervals  of  freer  labor  gave  him  a 
great  impulse.  He  enjoyed  his  own  industry  and  success,  and 
his  original  good  spirits  did  the  rest. 

As  he  advanced,  his  subject  cleared  up  before  him,  and  he 
arranged  it  at  last  in  two  nearly  equal  divisions ;  the  first  illus¬ 
trating  more  particularly  the  domestic  policy  of  the  sovereigns, 
and  bringing  Isabella  into  the  foreground  ;  and  the  second  mak¬ 
ing  their  foreign  policy  and  the  influence  and  management  of 
Ferdinand  more  prominent.  In  each  he  felt  more  and  more 
the  importance  of  giving  interest  to  his  work  by  preserving  for 
it  a  character  of  unity,  and  keeping  in  view  some  pervading 
moral  purpose.  One  thing,  however,  disappointed  him.  He 
perceived  certainly  that  it  must  be  extended  to  three  volumes. 
This  he  regretted.  But  he  resolved  that  in  no  event  would 
he  exceed  tliis  estimate,  and  he  was  happily  able  to  keep  his 
resolution,  although  it  cost  him  much  self-denial  to  do  it.  He 
was  constantly  exceeding  his  allowance  of  space,  and  as  con¬ 
stantly  condensing  and  abridging  his  work  afterwards,  so  as  to 
come  within  it.  To  this  part  of  his  labor  he  gave  full  two 
years.  It  was  a  long  time ;  but,  as  he  advanced  with  a  step 


GEORGE  BANCROFT, 


PROGRESS  AND  DIFFICULTIES. 


93 


assured  by  experience,  his  progress  became  at  least  more  even 
and  easy,  if  not  faster. 

The  early  part  of  the  summer  of  1835,  which  he  passed  at 
Pepperell,  was  peculiarly  agreeable  and  happy.  He  felt  that 
his  work  was  at  last  completely  within  his  control,  and  was 
approaching  its  termination.  He  even  began  to  be  impatient, 
which  he  had  never  been  before. 

In  a  pleasant  letter  to  his  friend  Mr.  Bancroft,  dated  Pep¬ 
perell,  June  17,  1835,  he  says  :  — 

“  I  find  the  country,  as  usual,  favorable  to  the  historic  Muse.  I  am  so 
near  the  term  of  my  labors,  that,  if  I  were  to  remain  here  six  months 
longer,  I  should  be  ready  to  launch  my  cock-boat,  or  rather  gondola,  —  for 
it  is  a  heavy  three-volume  affair, — into  the  world.  A  winter’s  campaign¬ 
ing  in  the  metropolis,  however,  will  throw  me  back,  I  suppose,  six  months 
further.  I  have  little  more  to  do  than  bury  and  write  the  epitaphs  of  the 
Great  Captain,  Ximenes,  and  Ferdinand.  Columbus  and  Isabella  are 
already  sent  to  their  account.  So  my  present  occupation  seems  to  be  that 
of  a  sexton,  and  I  begin  to  weary  of  it.” 7 

A  month  later  he  went,  as  usual,  to  the  sea-shore  for  the  hot 
season.  But,  before  he  left  the  spot  always  so  dear  to  him, 
he  recorded  the  following  characteristic  reflections  and  reso¬ 
lutions  :  — 

“July  12th,  1835.  —  In  three  days,  the  15th,  we  leave  Pepperell,  hav¬ 
ing  been  here  nearly  ten  weeks.  We  found  the  country  in  its  barren 
spring,  and  leave  it  in  the  prime  dress  of  summer.  I  have  enjoyed  the 
time,  and  may  look  back  on  it  with  some  satisfaction,  for  I  have  not 
misspent  it,  as  the  record  will  show. 

“  On  the  whole,  there  is  no  happiness  so  great  as  that  of  a  permanent 
and  lively  interest  in  some  intellectual  labor.  I,  at  least,  could  never  be 
tolerably  contented  without  it.  When,  therefore,  I  get  so  absorbed  by 
pleasures  —  particularly  exciting  pleasures  —  as  to  feel  apathy,  in  any 
degree,  in  my  literary  pursuits,  just  in  that  degree  I  am  less  happy.  No 
other  enjoyment  can  compensate,  or  approach  to,  the  steady  satisfaction 
and  constantly  increasing  interest  of  active  literary  labor,  —  the  subject  of 
meditation  when  I  am  out  of  my  study,  of  diligent  stimulating  activity 
within,  —  to  say  nothing  of  the  comfortable  consciousness  of  directing  my 

1  The  mother  of  the  future  historian  and  statesman  was  an  early  friend  of 
the  elder  Mrs.  Prescott,  and  the  attachment  of  the  parents  was  betimes  trans¬ 
ferred  to  the  children.  From  the  period  of  Mr.  Bancroft’s  return  home,  after 
several  years  spent  in  Europe,  where  his  academic  course  was  completed, 
this  attachment  was  cemented  by  constant  intercourse  and  intimacy  with  the 
Prescott  family,  and  was  never  broken  until  it  was  broken  by  death.  Some 
allusions  to  this  friendship  have  already  been  made.  More  will  be  found 
hereafter. 


94 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  TRESCOTT. 


powers  in  some  channel  worthy  of  them,  and  of  contributing  something  to 
the  stock  of  useful  knowledge  in  the  world.  As  this  must  be  my  princi¬ 
pal  material  for  happiness,  I  should  cultivate  those  habits  and  amusements 
most  congenial  with  it,  and  these  will  be  the  quiet  domestic  duties  — 
which  will  also  be  my  greatest  pleasures  —  and  temperate  social  enjoy¬ 
ments,  not  too  frequent  and  without  excess;  for  the  excess  of  to-day  will 
be  a  draft  on  health  and  spirits  to-morrow.  Above  all,  observe  if  my  in¬ 
terest  be  weakened  in  any  degree  in  my  pursuits.  If  so,  be  sure  I  am 
pursuing  a  wrong  course  somewhere,  —  wrong  even  in  an  Epicurean  sense 
for  my  happiness,  —  and  reform  it  at  once. 

“With  these  occupations  and  temperate  amusement,  seek  to  do  son 
good  to  society  by  an  interest  in  obviously  useful  and  benevolent  objects 
Preserve  a  calm,  philosophical,  elevated  way  of  thinking  on  all  subjects 
connected  with  the  action  of  life.  Think  more  seriously  of  the  conse¬ 
quences  of  conduct.  Cherish  devotional  feelings  of  reliance  on  the  Deity. 
Discard  a  habit  of  sneering  or  scepticism.  Do  not  attempt  impossibilities, 
or,  in  other  words,  to  arrive  at  certainty  [as  if]  on  questions  of  historic 
evidence  ;  but  be  content  that  there  is  evidence  enough  to  influence  a 
wise  man  in  the  course  of  his  conduct,  —  enough  to  produce  an  assent,  if 
not  a  mathematical  demonstration  to  his  mind,  —  and  that  the  great  laws 
for  our  moral  government  are  laid  down  with  undeniable,  unimpeachable 
tru.h.” 


A  week  after  the  date  of  these  last  reflections,  he  was  quietly 
established  at  Nahant,  having  remained,  as  usual,  two  or  three 
days  in  Boston  to  look  after  affairs  that  could  not  be  attended 
to  in  the  country.  But  he  always  disliked  these  periodical 
changes  and  removals.  They  broke  up  his  habits,  and  made 
a  return  to  his  regular  occupations  more  or  less  difficult  and 
unsatisfactory.  On  this  occasion,  coming  from  the  tranquil¬ 
lizing  influences  of  Pepperell,  where  he  had  been  more  than 
commonly  industrious  and  happy,  he  makes  an  amusing  rec¬ 
ord  of  a  fit  of  low  spirits  and  impatience,  which  is  worth 
notice,  because  it  is  the  only  one  to  be  found  in  all  his  memo¬ 
randa  :  — 

“July  19th.  —  Moved  to  Nahant  yesterday.  A  most  consumed  fit  ot 
vapors.  The  place  looks  dreary  enough  after  the  green  fields  of  Pep¬ 
perell.  Don’t  like  the  air  as  well  either,  —  too  chilly,  —  find  I  bear  and 
like  hot  weather  better  than  I  used  to.  Begin  to  study,  —  that  is  the  best 
way  of  restoring  equanimity.  Be  careful  of  my  eyes  at  first,  till  accom¬ 
modated  to  the  glare.  Hope  I  shall  find  this  good  working-ground,  — 
have  generally  found  it  so.  This  ink  is  too  pale  to  write  further.  Every¬ 
thing  goes  wrong  here.” 

But  he  had  a  good  season  for  work  at  Nahant,  after  all.  He 
wrote  there,  not  only  the  troublesome  account  of  the  Conquest 


FINISHES  “  FERDINAND  AND  ISABELLA.' 


95 


of  Navarre,  but  the  brilliant  chapters  on  the  deaths  of  Gon- 
salvo  de  Cdrdova  and  Ferdinand,  leaving  only  the  administra¬ 
tion  and  fall  of  Cardinal  Ximenes  for  a  dignified  close  to  the 
whole  narrative  part  of  the  history,  and  thus  giving  a  sort  of 
tragical  denouement  to  it,  such  as  he  desired.  This  he  com¬ 
pleted  in  Boston,  about  the  middle  of  November. 

A  chapter  to  review  the  whole  of  his  subject,  and  point  it 
with  its  appropriate  moral,  was,  however,  still  wanted.  It  was 

jitlicult  task,  and  he  knew  it ;  for,  among  other  things,  it  in¬ 
volved  a  general  and  careful  examination  of  the  entire  legis¬ 
lation  of  a  period  in  which  great  changes  had  taken  place,  and 
permanent  reforms  had  been  introduced.  He  allowed  five 
months  for  it.  It  took  above  seven,  but  it  is  an  admirable  part 
of  his  work,  and  worth  all  the  time  and  labor  it  cost  him. 

At  last,  on  the  25th  of  June,  1886,  he  finished  the  conclud¬ 
ing  note  of  the  concluding  chapter  to  the  History  of  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella.  Reckoning  from  the  time  when  he  wrote  the 
first  page,  or  from  a  period  a  little  earlier,  when  he  prepared  a 
review  of  Conde  on  the  Spanish  Arabs,  which  he  subsequently 
made  a  chapter  in  his  work,  the  whole  had  been  on  his  hands 
a  little  more  than  seven  years  and  a  half ;  and,  deducting  nine 
months  for  illness  and  literary  occupations  not  connected  with 
his  History,  he  made  out  that  he  had  written,  during  that  time, 
at  the  rate  of  two  hundred  and  thirty-four  printed  pages  a  year. 
But  he  had  read  and  labored  on  the  subject  much  in  the  two 
or  three  years  that  preceded  the  beginning  of  its  absolute 
composition,  and  another  year  of  corrections  in  the  proof-sheets 
followed  before  it  was  fairly  delivered  to  the  world  at  Christ¬ 
mas,  1837.  He  was,  therefore,  exact,  even  after  making  all 
the  deductions  that  can  belong  to  the  case,  when,  in  his  general 
estimate,  he  said  that  he  had  given  to  the  work  ten  of  the  best 
years  of  his  Hfe. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


1837-1838. 


Doubts  about  publishing  the  “  History  op  Ferdinand  and  Isabel¬ 
la.” —  Four  Copies  printed  as  it  was  written.  —  Opinions  op 
Friends.  —  The  Author’s  own  Opinion  of  his  Work.  —  Publishes 
it.  —  His  Letters  about  it.  —  Its  Success.  —  Its  Publication  in 
London.  —  Reviews  of  it  in  the  United  States  and  in  Europe. 


TRANGE  as  it  may  seem,  it  is  nevertheless  true,  that 


after  these  ten  years  of  labor  on  the  Ferdinand  and  Isa¬ 
bella,  and  with  the  full  happiness  he  felt  on  completing  that 
work,  Mr.  Prescott  yet  hesitated  at  last  whether  he  should 
publish  it  or  not.  As  early  as  1833,  and  from  that  time  for¬ 
ward,  while  the  composition  was  going  on,  he  had  caused  four 
copies  of  it  to  be  printed  in  large  type  on  one  side  only  of  the 
leaf.  For  this  he  had  two  reasons.  If  he  should  determine 
to  publish  the  work  in  London,  he  could  send  a  fair,  plain  copy 
to  be  printed  from  ;  —  and,  at  any  rate,  from  such  a  copy  he 
might  himself,  whenever  his  eye  could  endure  the  task,  revise 
the  whole  personally,  making  on  the  blank  pages  such  correc¬ 
tions  and  alterations  as  he  might  find  desirable.  This  task 
was  already  accomplished.  He  had  gone  over  the  whole,  a 
little  at  a  time,  with  care.  Some  portions  he  had  rewritten. 
The  first  chapter  he  wrote  out  three  times,  and  printed  it 
twice,  before  it  was  finally  put  in  stereotype,  and  adjusted  to 
its  place  as  it  now  stands. 

Still  he  hesitated.  He  consulted  with  his  father,  as  he  al¬ 
ways  did  when  he  doubted  in  relation  to  matters  of  conse¬ 
quence.  His  father  not  only  advised  the  publication,  but  told 
him  that  “  the  man  who  writes  a  book  which  he  is  afraid  to 
publish  is  a  coward.”  This  stirred  the  blood  of  his  grandfather 
in  his  veins,  and  decided  him.1 

He  had,  however,  the  concurrent  testimony  of  judicious  and 


1  Griswold's  Prose  Writers  of  America,  1847,  p.  372. 


THE  AUTHOR’S  OWN  OPINION. 


97 


faithful  friends.  Mr.  Sparks,  the  historian,  in  a  note  dated 
February  24th,  1837,  says :  “  I  have  read  several  chapters, 
and  am  reading  more.  The  book  will  be  successful,  —  bought, 
read,  and  praised.”  And  Mr.  Pickering,  the  modest,  learned, 
philosophical  philologist,  to  whom  he  submitted  it  a  little  later, 
sent  him  more  decisive  encouragement  under  date  of  May  1st. 

My  dear  Sir, 

Being  uninterrupted  last  evening,  I  had  an  opportunity  to  finish  the  few 
pages  that  remained  of  your  work,  and  I  now  return  the  volumes  with 
many  thanks.  I  cannot,  however,  take  leave  of  them  without  again  ex¬ 
pressing  the  high  satisfaction  I  feel  that  our  country  should  have  produced 
such  a  work, —  a  work  which,  unless  I  am  much  mistaken,  will  live  as 
long  as  any  one  produced  by  your  contemporaries  either  here  or  in  Eng¬ 
land. 

I  am,  my  dear  sir,  with  the  warmest  regard, 

Very  truly  yours, 

John  Pickering. 

His  friend  Mr.  Gardiner  had  alieady  gone  over  the  whole 
of  the  three  volumes  with  his  accustomed  faithfulness,  and  with 
a  critical  judgment  which  few  possess.  He  had  suggested  an 
important  alteration  in  the  arrangement  of  some  of  the  early 
chapters,  which  was  gladly  adopted,  and  had  offered  minor 
corrections  and  verbal  criticism  of  all  sorts,  with  the  freedom 
which  their  old  friendship  demanded,  but  a  considerable  part 
of  which  were,  with  the  same  freedom,  rejected  ;  the  author 
maintaining,  as  he  always  did,  a  perfect  independence  of  judg¬ 
ment  in  all  such  matters. 

How  he  himself  looked  upon  his  ten  years’  labor  may  be 
seen  by  the  following  extracts  from  his  memoranda,  before  he 
passed  the  final,  fatal  bourn  of  the  press.  After  giving  some 
account  of  his  slow  progress  and  its  causes,  he  says,  under  date 
of  June  26th,  1836,  when  he  had  recorded  the  absolute  com¬ 
pletion  of  the  History  :  - — 

“  Pursuing  the  work  in  this  quiet,  leisurely  way,  without  over-exertion 
or  fatigue,  or  any  sense  of  obligation  to  complete  it  in  a  given  time,  I  have 
found  it  a  continual  source  of  pleasure.  It  has  furnished  food  for  my 
meditations,  has  given  a  direction  and  object  to  my  scattered  reading,  and 
supplied  me  with  regular  occupation  for  hours  that  would  otherwise  have 
filled  me  with  ennui.  I  have  found  infinite  variety  in  the  study,  moreover, 
which  might  at  first  sight  seem  monotonous.  No  historical  labors,  rightly 
conducted,  can  be  monotonous,  sinoe  they  afford  all  the  variety  of  pursu¬ 
ing  a  chain  of  tacts  to  unforeseen  consequences,  of  comparing  doubtful  and 

5  G 


98 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


contradictory  testimony,  of  picturesque  delineations  of  incident,  and  of 
analysis  and  dramatic  exhibition  of  character.  The  plain  narrative  may 
be  sometimes  relieved  by  general  views  or  critical  discussions,  and  the 
story  and  the  actors,  as  they  grow  under  the  hands,  acquire  constantly 
additional  interest.  It  may  seem  dreary  work  to  plod  through  barbarous 
old  manuscript  chronicles  of  monks  and  pedants,  but  this  takes  up  but  a 
small  portion  of  the  time,  and  even  here,  read  aloud  to,  as  I  have  been, 
required  such  close  attention  as  always  made  the  time  pass  glibly.  In 
short,  although  I  have  sometimes  been  obliged  to  whip  myself  up  to  the 
work,  I  have  never  fairly  got  into  it  without  deriving  pleasure  from  it,  and 
I  have  most  generally  gone  to  it  with  pleasure,  and  left  it  with  regret. 

“  What  do  I  expect  from  it,  now  it  is  done  ?  And  may  it  not  be  all  in 
vain  and  labor  lost,  after  all  ?  My  expectations  are  not  such,  if  I  know 
myself,  as  to  expose  me  to  any  serious  disappointment.  I  do  not  flatter 
myself  with  the  idea  that  I  have  achieved  anything  very  profound,  or,  on 
the  other  hand,  that  will  be  very  popular.  I  know  myself  too  well  to 
suppose  the  former  for  a  moment.  I  know  the  public  too  well,  and  the 
subject  I  have  chosen,  to  expect  the  latter.  But  I  have  made  a  book 
illustrating  an  unexplored  and  important  period,  from  authentic  materials, 
obtained  with  much  difficulty,  and  probably  in  the  possession  of  no  one 
library,  public  or  private,  in  Europe.  As  a  plain,  veracious  record  of 
facts,  the  work,  therefore,  till  some  one  else  shall  be  found  to  make  a 
better  one,  will  fill  up  a  gap  in  literature  which,  I  should  hope,  would  give 
it  a  permanent  value,  —  a  value  founded  on  its  utility,  though  bringing  no 
great  fame  or  gain  to  its  author. 

“  Come  to  the  worst,  and  suppose  the  thing  a  dead  failure,  and  the  book 
born  ouly  to  be  damned.  Still  it  will  not  be  all  in  vain,  since  it  has  en¬ 
couraged  me  in  forming  systematic  habits  of  intellectual  occupation,  and 
proved  to  me  that  my  greatest  happiness  is  to  be  the  result  of  such.  It  is 
no  little  matter  to  be  possessed  of  this  conviction  from  experience.” 

And  again,  in  the  following  October,  when  he  had  entirely 
prepared  his  work  for  the  press,  he  writes  :  — 

“  Thus  ends  the  labor  of  ten  years,  for  I  have  been  occupied  more  or 
less  with  it,  in  general  or  particular  readings,  since  the  summer  of  1826, 
when,  indeed,  from  the  disabled  state  of  my  eyes,  I  studied  with  little  spirit 
and  very  little  expectation  of  reaching  this  result.  But  what  result? 
Three  solid  octavos  of  facts,  important  in  themselves,  new  in  an  English 
dress,  and  which,  therefore,  however  poor  may  be  the  execution  of  the 
work,  must  have  some  value  in  an  historic  view.  With  the  confidence  in 
its  having  such  a  value,  however  humble  it  maybe,  I  must  rest  contented. 
And  I  now  part  with  the  companion  of  so  many  years  with  the  cheering 
conviction,  that,  however  great  or  little  good  it  may  render  the  public,  it 
has  done  much  to  me,  by  the  hours  it  has  helped  to  lighten,  and  the  habits 
of  application  it  has  helped  to  form.” 

He  caused  the  whole  to  be  stereotyped  without  delay.  This 
mode  he  preferred,  because  it  was  one  which  left  him  a  more 
complete  control  of  his  own  work  than  he  could  obtain  in 


PUBLICATION  OF  THE  WORK. 


99 


any  other  way,  and  because,  if  it  rendered  corrections  and 
alterations  more  difficult,  it  yet  insured  greater  typographical 
accuracy  at  the  outset.  Mr.  Charles  Folsom,  a  member  of 
the  pleasant  club  that  had  been  formed  many  years  before, 
superintended  its  publication  with  an  absolute  fidelity,  good 
taste,  and  kindness  that  left  nothing  to  desire ;  although,  as 
the  author,  when  referring  to  his  friend’s  criticisms  and  sug¬ 
gestions,  says,  they  made  his  own  final  revision  anything  but  a 
sinecure.  It  was,  I  suppose,  as  carefully  carried  through  the 
press  as  any  work  ever  was  in  this  country.  The  pains  that 
had  been  taken  with  its  preparation  from  the  first  were  contin¬ 
ued  to  the  last. 

That  it  was  worth  the  many  years  of  patient,  conscientious 
labor  bestowed  upon  it,  the  world  was  not  slow  to  acknowledge. 
It  was  published  in  Boston  by  the  American  Stationers’  Com¬ 
pany, —  a  corporate  body  that  had  a  short  time  before  been 
organized  under  favorable  auspices,  but  which  troubles  in  the 
financial  condition  of  the  country  and  other  causes  did  not  per¬ 
mit  long  to  continue  its  operations.  The  contract  with  them 
was  a  very  modest  one.  It  was  dated  April  10th,  1837,  and 
stipulated  on  their  part,  for  the  use  of  the  stereotype  plates  and 
of  the  engravings,  already  prepared  at  the  author’s  charge. 
From  these,  twelve  hundred  and  fifty  copies  might  be  struck 
off  at  the  expense  of  the  Company,  Avho  were  to  have  five 
years  to  dispose  of  them.  The  bargain,  however,  was  not,  in 
one  point  of  view,  unfavorable.  It  insured  the  zealous  and 
interested  co-operation  of  a  large  and  somewhat  influential  body 
in  the  sale  and  distribution  of  the  work,  —  a  matter  of  much 
more  importance  at  that  time  than  it  would  be  now,  when  book¬ 
selling  as  a  business  and  profession  in  the  United  States  is  so 
much  more  advanced.  Otherwise,  as  a  contract,  it  was  cer¬ 
tainly  not  brilliant  in  its  promise.  But  the  author  thought 
well  of  it ;  and,  since  profit  had  not  been  his  object,  he  was 
entirely  satisfied. 

I  was  then  in  Italy,  having  been  away  from  home  with  my 
family  nearly  two  years,  during  which  I  had  constantly  received 
letters  from  him  concerning  the  progress  of  his  work.  On  this 
occasion  he  wrote  to  me,  April  11th,  1837,  the  very  day  after 
the  date  of  his  contract,  as  follows  :  — 


100 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


“  If  your  eyes  are  ever  greeted  with  the  aspect  of  the  old  North  [Amer¬ 
ican  Review]  in  your  pilgrimage,  you  may  see  announced  the  ‘  History  of 
Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  3  vols.  8vo,’  as  in  press,  which  means,  will  be  out 
in  October.  The  American  Stationers’  Company  —  a  company  got  up 
with  a  considerable  capital  for  the  publication  of  expensive  works  —  have 
contracted  for  an  edition  of  twelve  hundred  and  fifty  copies.  I  find  the 
stereotype  plates,  which  cost  not  a  great  deal  more  than  the  ordinary  mode 
of  composition,  and  they  the  paper  and  all  other  materials,  and  pay  me  a 
thousand  dollars.  The  offer  was  a  liberal  one,  and  entirely  answers  my 
purpose  of  introducing  the  work  into  the  channels  of  circulation,  which  I 
could  not  have  effected  by  so  small  an  inducement  as  a  commission  to  a 
publisher.  The  Company,  as  proprietors  of  the  edition,  have  every 
motive  to  disseminate  it,  and  they  have  their  agencies  diffused  through 
every  part  of  the  United  States.  What  has  given  me  most  satisfaction  is 
the  very  handsome  terms  in  which  the  book  has  been  recommended  by 
Messrs.  Pickering  and  Sparks,  two  of  the  committee  for  determining  on 
the  publication  by  the  Company,  and  the  former  of  whom  before  perusal, 
expressed  himself,  as  I  know,  unfavorably  to  the  work  as  a  marketable  con¬ 
cern,  from  the  nature  of  the  subject.  My  ambition  will  be  fully  satisfied, 
if  the  judgments  of  the  few  whose  good  opinion  I  covet  are  but  half  so 
favorable  as  those  publicly  expressed  by  these  gentlemen . 

“  I  must  confess  I  feel  some  disquietude  at  the  prospect  of  coming  in  full 
bodily  presence,  as  it  were,  before  the  public.  I  have  always  shrank  from 
such  an  exhibition,  and,  during  the  ten  years  I  have  been  occupied  with 
the  work,  few  of  my  friends  have  heard  me  say  as  many  words  about  it. 
When  I  saw  my  name  —  harmonious  ‘  Hickting  ’  and  all  —  blazoned  in 

the  North  American,  it  gave  me,  as  S - would  say,  ‘quite  a  turn,’ — ■ 

anything  but  agreeable.  But  I  am  in  for  it.  Of  one  thing  I  feel  confi¬ 
dent,  —  that  the  book  has  been  compiled  from  materials,  and  with  a  fidel¬ 
ity,  which  must  make  it  fill  a  hiatus  deflendas  in  Spanish  liistory.  For  the 
same  reasons,  I  cannot  think  that  I  have  much  to  fear  from  criticism  ;  not 
to  add,  that  the  rarity  of  my  materials  is  such,  that  I  doubt  if  any  but  a 
Spaniard  possesses  the  previous  knowledge  of  the  whole  ground  for  a  fair 
and  competent  judgment  of  my  historical  accuracy.  But  enough  and  too 
much  of  this  egotism  ;  though  I  know  you  and  Anna  love  me  too  well  to 
call  it  egotism,  and  will  feel  it  to  be  only  the  unreserved  communication 
made  around  one’s  own  fireside.” 

A  great  surprise  to  all  the  parties  concerned  followed  the 
publication.  Five  hundred  copies  only  were  struck  off  at  first ; 
that  number  being  thought  quite  sufficient  for  an  experiment 
so  doubtful  as  tliis  was  believed  to  be.  No  urgency  was  used 
to  have  the  whole  even  of  this  inconsiderable  edition  ready 
for  early  distribution  and  sale.  But  during  several  days  the 
demand  was  so  great,  that  copies  could  not  be  prepared  by  the 
bookbinder  as  fast  as  they  were  called  for.  Three  fifths  of 
the  whole  number  were  disposed  of  in  Boston  before  any  could 
be  spared  to  go  elsewhere,  and  all  disappeared  in  five  weeks. 


IMMEDIATE  SUCCESS  OF  THE  FERDINAND  AND  ISABELLA.  101 


In  a  few  months,  more  copies  were  sold  than  by  the  contract  it 
had  been  assumed  could  be  disposed  of  in  five  years  ;  and  from 
the  beginning  of  May,  1838,  —  that  is,  in  the  course  of  four 
months  from  its  first  publication,  —  the  History  itself  stood 
before  the  public  in  the  position  it  has  maintained  ever  since. 
A  success  so  brilliant  had  never  before  been  reached  in  so  short 
a  time  by  any  work  of  equal  size  and  gravity  on  this  side  of  the 
Atlantic.  Indeed,  nothing  of  the  sort  had  approached  it. 

“But,”  as  his  friend  Mr.  Gardiner  has  truly  said,  “  this  wonderfully 
rapid  sale  of  a  work  so  grave,  beginning  in  his  own  town,  was  due  in  the 
first  instance  largely  to  its  author’s  great  persona!  popularity  in  society, 
and  may  be  taken  as  a  signal  proof  of  it.  For  Mr.  Prescott  had  acquired 
earlier  no  marked  reputation  as  an  author.  As  a  mere  man  of  letters,  his 
substantial  merits  were  known  only  by  a  few  intimate  friends  ;  perhaps  not 
fully  appreciated  by  them.  To  the  public  he  was  little  known  in  any  way. 
But  he  was  a  prodigious  favorite  with  whatever  was  most  cultivated  in 
the  society  of  Boston.  Few  men  ever  had  so  many  warmly  attached  per¬ 
sonal  friends.  Still  fewer  —  without  more  or  less  previous  distinction  01 
fame  —  had  ever  been  sought  as  companions  by  young  and  old  of  both 
sexes  as  he  had  been.  When,  therefore,  it  came  to  be  known  that  the 
same  person  who  had  so  attracted  them  by  an  extraordinary  combination 
of  charming  personal  qualities  was  about  to  publish  a  book,  —  and  it  was 
known  only  a  very  short  time  before  the  book  itself  appeared,  —  the  fact 
excited  the  greatest  surprise,  curiosity,  and  interest. 

“  The  day  of  its  appearance  was  looked  forward  to  and  talked  of.  It 
came,  and  there  was  a  perfect  rush  to  get  copies.  A  convivial  friend,  for 
instance,  who  was  far  from  being  a  man  of  letters,  —  indeed,  a  person 
who  rarely  read  a  book,  —  got  up  early  in  the  morning,  and  went  to  wait 
for  the  opening  of  the  publisher’s  shop,  so  as  to  secure  the  first  copy.  It 
came  out  at  Christmas,  and  was  at  once  adopted  as  the  fashionable  Christ¬ 
mas  andNew  Year’s  presenlof  the  season.  Thosewhoknew  the  authorread 
it  from  interest  in  him.  No  one  read  it  without  surprise  and  delight.  Mr. 
Daniel  Webster,  the  statesman,  who  knew  Prescott  well  in  society,  was  as 
much  surprised  as  the  rest,  and  spoke  of  him  as  a  comet  which  had  sud¬ 
denly  blazed  out  upon  the  world  in  full  splendor. 

“  Such  is  the  history  of  this  remarkable  sale  at  its  outbreak.  Love  of 
the  author  gave  the  first  impetus.  That  given,  the  extraordinary  merits 
of  the  work  did  all  the  rest.” 

Meantime  negotiations  had  been  going  on  for  its  publication 
in  London.  My  friend  had  written  to  me  repeatedly  about 
them,  and  so  unreasonably  moderate  were  his  hopes,  that,  at 
one  time,  he  had  thought  either  not  to  publish  it  at  all  in  the 
United  States,  or  to  give  away  the  work  here,  and  make  his 
chief  venture  in  England.  As  early  as  the  29th  of  Decem¬ 
ber,  1835,  he  had  written  to  me  in  Dresden,  where  I  then 


was : 


102 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


“  Before  closing  my  letter,  I  shall  detain  you  a  little  about  my  own 
affairs.  I  have  nearly  closed  my  magnum  opus,  —  that  is,  I  shall  close  it, 
and  have  a  copy  of  it  printed,  I  trust,  early  next  autumn.  I  print,  you 
know,  only  four  copies,  designing,  whether  I  publish  it  here  or  not,  to 
have  it  printed  in  England . 

“  Although  the  subject  has  nothing  in  it  to  touch  the  times  and  present 
topics  of  interest  and  excitement  particularly,  yet,  as  filling  up  a  blank  of 
importance  in  modern  history,  I  cannot  but  think,  if  decently  executed, 
that  it  will  not  be  difficult  to  find  some  publisher  in  London  who  would 
be  interested  in  it.  You  know  that  lucre  is  n<A  my  object.  I  wish,  if 
possible,  to  give  the  work  a  fair  chance  under  fair  auspices.  As  to  the 
merits  of  the  work,  it  will  be  easy  to  form  a  judgment,  since  the  book¬ 
seller  will  have  the  advantage  of  a  fair  printed  copy.  Now  I  wish  your 
advice,  how  I  had  best  proceed  ?  If  you  should  be  in  London  next  win¬ 
ter,  my  course  would  be  clear.  I  would  send  the  book  to  you,  and  doubt 
not  you  would  put  it  in  a  train  for  getting  it  into  the  world,  if  any 
respectable  accoucheur  could  be  found  to  take  charge  of  it.  If  you 
should  not  be  there,  as  is  most  probable,  can  you  advise  me  what  to  do 
next  1 . 

“  I  think  it  possible  I  may  print  the  book  here  simultaneously.  - of¬ 

fered  the  other  day  to  take  the  concern  off  my  hands,  if  I  would  give  him 
the  first  impression  of  a  certain  number  of  copies.  As  I  have  no  illusory 
hopes  of  a  second,  I  don’t  know  that  I  can  do  better.  But  I  am  persuaded 
the  work,  if  worth  anything,  is  suited  to  a  European  market,  —  at  least, 
enough  to  indemnify  the  publisher.  Else  ten  years  nearly  of  my  life  have 
been  thrown  away  indeed.  I  hope  you  will  not  lose  your  patience  with 
this  long-winded  prosing,  and  will  excuse  this  egotism,  from  the  impor¬ 
tance  of  the  subject  to  myself.  As  to  the  trouble  I  occasion  you,  I  know 
you  too  well  to  think  you  will  require  an  apology.” 

To  this  I  replied  from  Dresden,  February  8th,  1836  :  — 

“  You  speak  more  fully  about  your  opus  magnum,  and  therefore  I  answer 
more  fully  than  I  did  before.  It  must  be  a  proud  thought  to  you  that 
you  are  so  near  the  end  of  it ;  and  yet  I  think  you  will  leave  it  with  the 
same  feeling  of  regret  with  which  Gibbon  left  his  Decline  and  Fall.  What, 
then,  will  you  do  to  fill  up  the  first  void  1  Is  it  out  of  the  question  that 
you  should  fetch  out  your  copy  yourself,  and  get  the  peace  of  conscience 
that  would  follow  making  the  arrangements  for  its  publication  in  person  ? 
I  hope  not.  For  we  could  easily  manage  to  meet  you  in  England  two 
years  hence,  and  I  assure  you,  my  own  experience  leads  me  to  think  it  no 
very  grave  matter  to  travel  with  wife  and  children.  But  let  us  suppose 
you  do  not.  What  then  1  I  remain  by  the  suggestion  in  my  last  letter, 
that  Colonel  Aspinwall  is  the  man  to  take  charge  of  it,  provided  neither 
you  nor  I  should  be  in  London,  although,  if  both  of  us  were  on  the  spot, 
he  would  be  the  man  with  whom  I  think  we  should  earliest  advise  in  all 
publishing  arrangements.  His  place  as  our  Consul-General  in  London  is 
something  in  talking  to  publishers.  His  character,  prompt,  business-like, 
firm,  and  honorable,  is  still  more.  And  then,  if  I  mistake  not,  he  has  a 
good  deal  of  practice  with  these  people ;  for  he  certainly  makes  Irving’s 

bargains,  and,  I  believe,  has  managed  for - and  others.  This  practice. 

too,  is  a  matter  of  moment.” 


PUBLICATION  IN  ENGLAND. 


lUo 

Very  fortunately  for  the  author  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella. 
Colonel  Aspinwall  was  soon  afterwards  in  Boston,  which  is  his 
proper  home,  and  in  whose  neighborhood  he  was  bom.  He  at 
once  undertook  in  the  pleasantest  manner  the  pleasant  com¬ 
mission  which  was  offered  liim,  and  a  mutual  regard  was  the 
consequence  of  the  connection  then  formed,  which  was  never 
afterwards  broken  or  impaired  ;  so  much  was  there  in  common 
between  the  characters  of  the  two  high-minded  and  cultivated 
men. 

In  the  autumn  of  1836,  one  of  the  four  printed  copies,  care¬ 
fully  corrected,  was  therefore,  sent  to  Colonel  Aspinwall, 
accompanied  by  a  letter  dated  October  28th,  in  which  the 
author  says  :  — 

“  With  regard  to  the  arrangements  for  publication,  which  you  have 
been  kind  enough  to  allow  me  to  trust  to  you,  I  can  only  say  that  I  shall 
abide  entirely  by  your  judgment.  I  certainly  should  not  disdain  any 
profits  which  might  flow  from  it,  though  I  believe  you  will  do  me  the 
justice  to  think  that  I  have  been  influenced  by  higher  motives  in  the  com¬ 
position  of  the  work.  If  I  have  succeeded,  1  have  supplied  an  important 
desideratum  in  history,  but  one  which,  I  fear,  has  too  little  in  it  of  a  tem¬ 
porary  or  local  interest  to  win  its  way  into  public  favor  very  speedily. 
But  if  the  bookseller  can  wait,  I  am  sure  I  can.” 

The  first  attempts  with  the  trade  in  London  were  not  en¬ 
couraging.  Murray,  the  elder,  to  whom  the  book  was  at  once 
offered,  declined  promptly  to  become  its  publisher;  probably 
without  an  examination  of  its  merits,  and  certainly  without  a 
thorough  one.  Longman  took  more  time,  but  came  to  the 
same  conclusion.  The  author,  as  might  have  been  expected, 
was  chagrined,  and,  with  the  openness  of  his  nature,  said  so,  in 
his  letters  both  to  Colonel  Aspinwall  and  to  me. 

“  Murray’s  decision,”  he  wrote  to  the  former,  “  was  too  prompt  to  bo 
final  with  me ;  but  Longman  has  examined  the  matter  so  deliberately, 
that  I  am  convinced  there  is  little  reason  to  suppose  the  book  can  be 
regarded  as  a  profitable  concern  for  a  London  publisher.  It  will  un¬ 
doubtedly  prejudice  the  work  to  go  a-bcgging  for  a  patron,  and  my 
ill-success  will  thns  acquire  a  disagreeable  notoriety  not  only  there,  but 
here,  where  nothing  is  known  of  my  foreign  negotiations.  I  think  it  best, 
therefore,  to  take  Uncle  Toby’s  advice  on  the  occasion,  and  say  nothing 
about  it  to  any  one.  For  the  copy  in  your  possession,  you  had  best  put 
it  out  of  sight.  It  will  soon  be  replaced  by  one  of  the  Boston  edition  in 
a  more  comely  garb.  If  you  should  have  proposed  the  work  before  re¬ 
ceiving  this  to  any  other  person,  I  shall  not  care  to  hear  of  its  refusal 
from  you,  as  it  will  disgust  me  with  the  book  before  it  is  fairly  born.” 


104 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


Similar  feelings  he  expressed  even  more  strongly  two  days 
later.  But  this  state  of  things  was  not  destined  to  last  long. 
Before  the  letter  which  was  intended  to  discourage  any  further 
proposition  in  London  had  reached  Colonel  Aspinwall,  Mr. 
Richard  Bentley  had  accepted  an  offer  of  the  book.  A  few 
days  after  learning  this,  the  author  wrote  to  me  in  a  very 
different  state  of  mind  from  that  in  which  he  had  written  his 
hist  letters. 

Boston,  May  16,  1837. 

Mr  dearest  Friend, 

I  told  you  iu  my  last  that  no  arrangement  for  the  publication  had 
been  made  in  England.  I  was  mistaken,  however,  as  I  soon  afterwards 
received  a  letter  hom  Colonel  Aspinwall,  informing  me  of  one  with 
Bentley,  by  which  he  becomes  proprietor  of  one  half  of  the  copyright, 
and  engages  to  publish  forthwith  an  edition  at  his  own  cost  and  risk,  and 
divide  with  me  the  profits.  He  says,  “  It  will  be  an  object  for  him  to  get 
out  the  work  in  elegant  style,  with  engravings,  vignettes,  &c.”  This  is 
certainly  much  better,  considering  the  obscurity  of  the  author  and  the 
absence  of  all  temporary  allusion  or  interest  in  the  subject,  than  I  had  a 
right  to  expect.  My  object  is  now  attained.  I  shall  bring  out  the  book 
in  the  form  I  desired,  and  under  the  most  respectable  auspices  on  both 
sides  of  the  water,  and  in  a  way  which  must  interest  the  publisher  so 
deeply  as  to  secure  his  exertions  to  circulate  the  work.  My  bark  will  be 
fairly  launched,  and  if  it  should  be  doomed  to  encounter  a  spiteful  puff  or 
two  of  criticism,  I  trust  it  may  weather  it. 

But  lie  encountered  no  such  adverse  blasts.  Immediately 
after  the  appearance  of  the  book  at  Christmas,  1837,  but  with 
the  imprint  of  1838,  a  very  long  and  able  article  on  it  by  his 
friend  Mr.  Gardiner,  who,  as  we  have  seen,  had  just  assisted  in 
preparing  it  for  the  press,  was  published  in  the  “  North- Ameri¬ 
can  Review.”2  A  little  later,  another  friend,  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Greenwood,  —  whose  name  it  is  not  possible  to  mention  with¬ 
out  remembering  what  sorrow  followed  the  early  loss  of  one 
whose  genius  was  at  once  so  brilliant  and  so  tender,  —  wrote  a 
review  for  the  “  Christian  Examiner,”  no  less  favorable  than 
that  of  Mr.  Gardiner.8  Others  followed.  An  excellent  notice 
by  Mr.  John  Pickering  appeared  in  the  “  New  York  Re¬ 
view,” —  true,  careful,  and  discriminating.4  And  the  series 
of  the  more  elaborate  American  discussions  was  closed  in  the 
“  Democratic  Review  ”  of  the  next  month  by  Mr.  Bancroft,  — 
himself  an  historian  already  of  no  mean  note,  and  destined  to 


3  January,  1S38. 


8  March,  1838. 


4  April,  18S8 


REVIEWS  IN  ENGLAND. 


105 


yet  more  distinction  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic.  Of  course, 
there  were  many  other  notices  in  periodical  publications  of  less 
grave  pretensions,  and  still  more  in  the  newspapers  ;  for  the 
work  excited  an  interest  which  had  not  been  at  all  foreseen. 
It  was  read  by  great  numbers  who  seldom  looked  into  anything 
so  solid  and  serious.  It  was  talked  of  by  all  who  ever  talked 
of  books.  Whatever  was  written  or  said  about  it  was  in  one 
tone  and  temper;  so  that,  as  far  as  the  United  States  were  con¬ 
cerned,  it  may  be  regarded  as  successful  from  the  moment  of 
its  appearance. 

Nor  did  the  notices  which  at  the  same  time  came  from  Eng¬ 
land  show  anything  but  good-will  towards  the  unknown  and 
unheralded  claimant  for  the  higher  class  of  literary  honors. 
They  were  written,  of  course,  by  persons  who  had  never  before 
heard  of  him,  but  their  spirit  was  almost  as  kindly  as  if  they 
had  been  dictated  by  personal  friendship.  The  “  Athenaeum  ” 
led  off  with  a  short  laudatory  article,  which  I  believe,  was  from 
the  pen  of  Dr.  Dunham,  who  wrote  the  summary  History  of 
Spain  and  Portugal  in  Lardner’s  Cabinet  Cyclopaedia.6  An 
article,  however,  in  the  “  Edinburgh  Review,”  a  little  later,  was 
much  more  satisfactory.8  It  was  the  first  examination  that  the 
work  obtained  in  England  from  one  whose  previous  special 
knowledge  of  the  reign  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  enabled  him 
to  do  it  thoroughly.  Its  author  was  Don  Pascual  de  Gayangos, 
a  learned  and  accomplished  Spanish  gentleman,  then  resident 
in  London,  who  wrote  the  Castilian  and  the  English  with  equal 
purity  and  elegance,  and  of  whose  kindly  connection  with  Mr. 
Prescott  it  will  be  necessary  for  me  to  speak  often  hereafter. 
He  made  in  his  article  on  the  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  ”  a  faithful 
and  real  review  of  the  work,  going  over  its  several  divisions 
with  care,  and  giving  a  distinct  opinion  on  each.  It  was  more 
truly  an  examination  of  the  work,  and  less  a  dissertation  on 
the  subject,  than  is  common  in  such  articles,  and  on  this  account 
it  will  always  have  its  value. 

To  this  succeeded  in  June  an  article  in  the  “  Quarterly  Re 
view,”  by  an  English  gentleman  familiar  with  everything  Span¬ 
ish  ;  I  mean  Mr.  Richai’d  F ord,  who  wrote  the  “  Handbook  of 
Spain,”  —  a  brilliant  work,  not  without  marks  of  prejudice, 

•  1838,  pp.  42-44.  •  January,  1839. 

5* 


106 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


but  full  of  a  singularly  minute  and  curious  local  knowledge 
of  Spain,  and  of  Spanish  history  and  manners.  His  article 
on  “Ferdinand  and  Isabella”7  is  marked  with  the  same  char¬ 
acteristics  and  similar  prejudices.  He  is  obviously  a  little 
unwilling  to  think  that  a  book  written  with  learning,  judg¬ 
ment,  and  good  taste  can  come  from  such  a  Nazareth  as  the 
United  States  ;  but  lie  admits  it  at  last.  Perhaps  his  reluctant 
testimony  was  hardly  less  gratifying  to  the  author  than  one 
more  cordial  would  have  been. 

A  series  of  articles,  however,  which  appeared  in  the  “  Bi- 
bliotheque  Universelle  de  Geneve”  between  July,  1838,  and 
January,  1840,  —  five  in  number,  and  making  together  above 
a  hundred  and  eighty  pages,  —  gave  Mr.  Prescott  more  satis¬ 
faction  than  any  other  review  of  his  work.  And  well  they 
might,  for  no  other  review  of  the  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella” 
can  be  compared  to  it  in  amplitude  or  elaborateness.  It  was 
written  by  Count  Adolphe  de  Circourt,  a  person  whom  Lamar¬ 
tine  has  called  “  a  living  chart  of  human  knowledge.” 8  It 

7  June,  1839. 

8  Speaking  of  the  peculiar  fitness  of  the  appointment  of  this  gentleman  to 
the  very  important  mission  at  the  Court  of  Berlin,  immediately  after  the  fall 
of  Louis-Philippe,  in  1848,  Lamartine  says:  “  Cet  homrne,  peu  connu  jusques- 
la  hors  du  monde  aristocratiqne,  littdraire,  et  savant,  se  nommait  Mons.  de 
Circourt.  II  avait  servi  sous  la  Rdstauration  dans  la  diplomatie.  La  revolu¬ 
tion  de  Juillet  l’avait  rejetd  dans  1’isolement  et  dans  l’opposition,  plus  prfes  du 
legitimisme  que  de  la  democratic.  II  avait  profits  de  ces  aunties  pour  se 
livrer  a  des  etudes,  qui  aurient  absorb^  plusieurs  vies  d’hommes,  et  qui  n’etai- 
ent  que  des  distractions  de  la  sienne.  Langues,  races,  gdographie,  histoire, 
philosophic,  voyages,  constitutions,  religions  des  peuples  depuis  l’enfance  du 
monde  jusqu’a  nos  jours,  depuis  le  Thibet  jusqu’aux  Alpes,  il  avait  tout  incor- 
pordenlui;  tout  rbfiechi ;  tout  retenu.  On  pouvait  l’interroger  sur  l’univer- 
salitd  des  faits  ou  des  iddes,  dont  se  compose  le  monde,  sans  qu’il  eftt  besoin, 
pour  rdpondre,  d'interroger  d’autres  livres  que  sa  rndmoire,  dtendue,  surface 
et  profondeur  immense  des  notions,  dont  jamais  on  ne  rencontrait  ni  le  fond, 
ni  les  limites,  —  mappemonde  vivante  des  connaissances  humaines,  homme 
oil  tout  etait  tete  et  dont  la  tete  etait  a  la  hauteur  de  toutes  les  v^ritds ;  im¬ 
partial  du  reste;  indifferent  entre  les  systhraes  comme  un  etre  qui  ne  serait 
qu’intelligence,  et  qui  ne  tiendrait  a  la  nature  humaine  que  par  le  regard  et 
par  la  curiosite.  Mons.  de  Circourt  avait  epousd  une  jeune  femme  Russe,  de 
race  aristocratiqne  et  d’un  esprit  Europden.  II  tenait  par  elle  a  tout  ce  qu'il 
y  avait  d’bminent  dans  les  lettres  et  dans  les  cours  de  1’ AUemagne  et  du  Nord. 
Lui-meme  avait  reside  a  Berlin,  et  il  s’y  etait  lid  avec  les  hommes  d’etat.  Le 
Roi  de  Prusse,  souverain  lettrd  et  liberal,  1’avait  honore  de  quelque  intimite 
a  sa  cour.  Mons.  de  Circourt,  sans  etre  republicain  de  coeur,  etait  assez 
frappe  des  grands  horizons  au'une  Republique  Franqaise — dclose  du  genie 


REVIEW  BY  COUNT  CIRCOURT. 


107 


goes  in  the  most  thorough  manner  over  the  whole  subject,  and 
examines  the  difficult  and  doubtful  points  in  the  history  of  the 
period  with  a  remarkable  knowledge  of  the  original  sources  and 
authorities.  Sometimes  the  reviewer  differs  from  the  author  ; 
maintaining,  for  instance,  that  the  union  of  the  crowns  of  Cas¬ 
tile  and  Aragon  was  not  a  benefit  to  Spain,  and  that  the  war 
against  Granada  is  not  to  be  justified  by  the  code  of  a  Christian 
civilization.  And  sometimes  he  makes  additions  to  the  History 
itself,  as  in  the  case  of  the  conquest  of  Navarre.  But  what¬ 
ever  he  says  is  said  in  a  philosophical  spirit,  and  with  a  gener¬ 
ous  purpose  ;  and,  coming  in  a  foreign  language  from  one  who 
knew  the  author  only  in  his  book,  it  sounds  more  like  the  voice 
of  posterity  than  either  the  American  or  the  English  reviews 
that  were  contemporary  with  it. 

progressif,  et  pacifique  de  la  France  nouvelle  —  pouvait  ouvrir  a  l’esprit  hu- 
main,  pour  la  saluer  et  la  servir.  II  comprenait,  corame  Lamartine,  que  la 
liberty  avait  besoin  de  la  paix,  et  que  la  paix  dtait  a  Berlin  et  a  Londres.” — 
Revolution  de  1848,  Livre  xi.  c.  13. 

I  have  inserted  these  striking  remarks  of  Lamartine  on  Mons.  and  Mad.  de 
Circourt,  because  they  will  appear  hereafter  as  the  friends  of  Mr.  Prescott. 
They  will  also  be  remembered  by  many  of  my  readers  as  the  intimate  friaads 
and  correspondents  of  De  Tocqueville  and  Count  Gavour. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


1838. 


The  Author’s  Feelings  on  the  Success  op  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabel¬ 
la.” —  Illness  of  his  Mother,  and  her  Recovery.  —  Opinions  in 
Europe  concerning  his  History. 


iASSING  over  the  multitude  of  notices  that  appeared  con 


I  cerning  the  “  History  of  F erdinand  and  Isabella,”  it  will 
be  pleasant  to  see  how  the  author  himself  felt  in  the  first  flush 
of  his  unexpected  honors.  I  was  then  in  Paris,  and  ten  days 
after  the  book  was  published  in  Boston  he  wrote  to  me  as 
follows :  — 


“  Boston,  Jan.  6,  1838. 


“  My  dear  Friend, 

“  It  is  long  since  I  have  seen  your  handwriting ;  though  only  a  few 
weeks  since  I  received  a  most  kind  and  welcome  epistle  from  Anna.  Your 
friends  here  say  your  are  not  going  to  hold  out  your  four  years,  and  I  could 
not  help  thinking  that  the  complexion  of  Anna’s  sentiments  looked  rather 
homeish.1  I  wish  it  may  prove  so.  You  will,  at  least,  be  spared,  by  your 
return,  sundry  long  communications  from  me,  with  a  plentiful  dash  of 
egodsm  in  them. 

“  There  is  some  excuse  for  this,  however,  just  now,  which  is  a  sort  of 
epoch  in  my  life,  —  my  literary  life  at  least.  Their  Catholic  Highnesses 
have  just  been  ushered  into  the  world  in  three  royal  octavos.  The  bant¬ 
ling  appeared  on  a  Christmas  morning,  and  certainly  has  not  fallen  still¬ 
born,  but  is  alive  and  kicking  merrily.  How  long  its  life  may  last  is 
another  question.  Within  the  first  ten  days  half  the  first  edition  of  five 
hundred  copies  (for  the  publishers  were  afraid  to  risk  a  larger  one  for  our 
market)  has  been  disposed  of,  and  they  are  now  making  preparations  for  a 
second  edition,  having  bought  of  me  twelve  hundred  and  fifty  copies.  The 
sale,  indeed,  seems  quite  ridiculous,  and  I  fancy  many  a  poor  soul  thinks 
so  by  this  time.  Not  a  single  copy  has  been  sent  South,  —  the  publishers 
not  choosing  to  strip  the  market  while  they  can  find  such  demand  here. 

“  In  the  mean  time  the  book  has  got  summer-puffs  in  plenty,  and  a  gale 
to  the  tune  of  ninety  pages  from  the  old  ‘  North  American.’  S - face¬ 

tiously  remarked,  that  ‘  the  article  should  be  called  the  fourth  volume  of  the 

1  I  went  abroad,  with  my  family,  for  Sirs.  Ticknor’s  health,  in  1835,  intend¬ 
ing  to  stay  abroad  four  years,  if,  as  her  physicians  feared,  so  much  time 
might  be  necessary  for  her  restoration.  She  was  well  in  three,  and  we  gladly 
came  home  a  few  mouths  after  the  date  of  this  letter. 


THE  AUTHOR’S  FEELINGS  OF  SUCCESS. 


109 


History.’  It  was  written  by  Gardiner,  after  several  months’  industrious 
application,  —  though  eventually  concocted  in  the  very  short  space  of  ten 
days,2  which  has  given  occasion  to  some  oversights.  It  is  an  able,  learned, 
and  most  partial  review ;  and  I  doubt  if  more  knowledge  of  the  particular 
subject  can  easily  be  supplied  by  the  craft  on  the  other  side  of  the  water, 
—  at  least  without  the  aid  of  a  library  as  germane  to  the  matter  as  mine, 
which,  I  think,  will  not  readily  be  met  with.  I  feel  half  inclined  to  send 
you  a  beautiful  critique  from  the  pen  of  your  friend  Hillard,  as  much  to 
my  taste  as  anything  that  has  appeared.  But  pudor  vetat. 

“  In  the  mean  time  the  small  journals  have  opened  quite  a  cry  in  my 
favor,  and  while  one  of  yesterday  claims  me  as  a  Bostonian,  a  Salem  paper 
asserts  that  distinguished  honor  for  the  witch-town.  So  you  see  I  am  ex¬ 
periencing  the  fate  of  the  Great  Obscure,  even  in  my  own  lifetime.  And 
a  clergyman  told  me  yesterday,  he  intended  to  make  my  case  —  the  obsta¬ 
cles  I  have  encountered  and  overcome  —  the  subject  of  a  sermon.  I  told 
him  it  would  help  to  sell  the  book,  at  all  events. 

“  ‘ Poor  fellow  !  ’  —  I  hear  you  exclaim  by  this  time,  —  ‘his  wits  are 
actually  turned  by  this  flurry  in  his  native  village,  —  the  Yankee  Athens  !  ’ 
Not  a  whit,  I  assure  you.  Am  I  not  writing  to  two  dear  friends,  to  whom 
I  can  talk  as  freely  and  foolishly  as  to  one  of  my  own  household,  and  who, 
I  am  sure,  will  not  misunderstand  me  t  The  effect  of  all  this  —  which  a 
boy  at  Dr.  Gardiner’s  school,  I  remember,  called  fungum  popularitatem  — 

has  been  rather  to  depress  me,  and  S - was  saying  yesterday,  that  she 

had  never  known  me  so  out  of  spirits  as  since  the  book  has  coine  out. 
The  truth  is,  I  appreciate,  more  than  my  critics  can  do,  the  difficulty  of 
doing  justice  to  my  subject,  and  the  immeasurable  distance  between  me 
and  the  models  with  which  they  have  been  pleased  to  compare  me . 

“  From  two  things  I  have  derived  unfeigned  satisfaction  ;  one,  the  de¬ 
light  of  my  good  father,  who  seems  disposed  to  swallow  —  without  the 
requisite  allowance  of  salt  —  all  the  good-natured  things  which  are  said  of 
the  book,  and  the  other,  the  hearty  and  active  kindness  of  the  few  whom 
I  have  thought  and  now  find  to  be  my  friends.  I  feel  little  doubt  that 
the  work,  owing  to  their  exertions,  when  it  gets  to  the  Southern  cities 
where  I  am  not  known,  will  find  a  fair  reception,  —  though,  of  course,  I 
cannot  expect  anything  like  the  welcome  it  has  met  here.3  I  feel  relieved, 
however,  as  well  as  the  publishers,  from  all  apprehensions  that  the  book 
will  burn  their  fingers,  whatever  it  may  do  to  the  author’s . 

“  I  have  sent  a  copy  for  you  to  Rich  [London],  who  will  forward  it  ac¬ 
cording  to  your  directions.  I  suppose  there  will  be  no  difficulty  in  send¬ 
ing  it  over  to  Paris,  if  you  remain  there.  Only  advise  him  thereof. . 

A  favorable  notice  in  a  Parisian  journal  of  respectability  would  be  wrorth 
a  good  deal.  But,  after  all,  my  market  and  my  reputation  rest  principally 
with  England,  and  if  your  influence  can  secure  me,  not  a  friendly,  but  a 

a  He  had,  as  has  been  noticed,  gone  over  the  whole  work  before  it  was  pub¬ 
lished,  and  had  done  it  with  a  continual  consultation  of  the  authorities  on 
which  its  facts  and  statements  were  founded.  He  was,  therefore,  completely 
master  of  the  subject,  and  wrote  with  an  authority  that  few  reviewers  can 
claim. 

8  See  ante,  p.  100. 


no 


WILLIAM  IIICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


fair  notice  there,  in  any  of  the  three  or  four  leading  journals,  it  would  be 
the  Lest  thing  you  ever  did  for  me,  —  and  that  is  no  small  thing  to  say. 
But  I  am  asking  what  you  will  do  without  asking,  if  any  foreigner  could 
hope  to  have  such  influence.  I  know  that  the  fiat  of  criticism  now-a-days 
depends  quite  as  much  on  the  temper  and  character  of  the  reviewer  as  the 
reviewed,  and,  in  a  work  filled  with  facts  dug  out  of  barbarous  and  obso¬ 
lete  idioms,  it  will  be  easy  to  pick  flaws  and  serve  them  up  as  a  sample 
of  the  whole.  But  I  will  spare  you  further  twaddle  about  their  Catholic 
Highnesses.” 

A  little  later,  April  30,  1838,  in  his  private  Memoranda, 
after  giving  a  detailed  account  of  the  circumstances  attending 
its  publication,  the  contracts  for  printing,  and  the  printing 
itself,  —  all  which  he  thus  laid  up  for  future  use,  —  he  goes 
on  :  — 

“"Well,  now  for  the  result  in  America  and  England  thus  far.  My 
work  appeared  here  on  the  25th  of  December,  1837.  Its  birth  had  been 
prepared  for  by  the  favorable  opinions,  en  avarice,  of  the  few  friends  who 
in  its  progress  through  the  press  had  seen  it.  It  was  corrected  previously 
as  to  style,  &c.,  by  my  friend  Gardiner,  who  bestowed  some  weeks,  and  I 
may  say  months,  on  its  careful  revision,  and  who  suggested  many  impor¬ 
tant  alterations  in  the  form.  Simonds 4  had  previously  suggested  throw¬ 
ing  the  introductory  1  Section  2  ’  on  Aragon  into  its  present  place,  it  first 
having  occupied  the  place  after  Chapter  III.  The  work  was  indefatigably 
corrected,  and  the  references  most  elaborately  and  systematically  revised 
by  Eolsom . 

“  Erom  the  time  of  its  appearance  to  the  present  date,  it  has  been  the 
subject  of  notices,  more  or  less  elaborate,  in  the  principal  reviews  and 
periodicals  of  the  country,  and  in  the  mass  of  criticism  I  have  not  met 
ivith  one  unkind,  or  sarcastic,  or  censorious  sentence ;  and  my  critics  have 
been  of  all  sorts,  from  stiff  conservatives  to  levelling  loco-focos.  Much 
of  all  this  success  is  to  be  attributed  to  the  influence  and  exertions  of  per¬ 
sonal  friends,  —  much  to  the  beautiful  dress  and  mechanical  execution  of 
the  book,  —  and  much  to  the  novelty,  in  our  country,  of  a  work  of  research 
in  various  foreign  languages.  The  topics,  too,  though  not  connected  with 
the  times,  have  novelty  and  importance  in  them.  Whatever  is  the  cause, 
the  book  has  found  a  degree  of  favor  not  dreamed  of  by  me  certainly,  nor 
by  its  warmest  friends.  It  will,  I  have  reason  to  hope,  secure  me  an 
honest  fame,  and  —  what  never  entered  into  my  imagination  in  writing 
it  —  put,  in  the  long  run,  some  money  in  my  pocket. 

“  In  Europe  things  wear  also  a  very  auspicious  aspect  so  far.  The 
weekly  periodicals  —  the  lesser  lights  of  criticism  —  contain  the  most 
ample  commendations  on  the  book  ;  several  of  the  articles  being  written 
with  spirit  and  beauty.  How  extensively  the  trade  winds  may  have 
helped  me  along,  I  cannot  say.  But  so  far  the  course  has  been  smooth 

*  Mr.  Henry  C.  Simonds,  who  was  Mr.  Prescott’s  reader  and  secretary  for 
four  years,  —  an  accomplished  young  scholar,  for  whom  he  felt  a  very  sincere 
regard.  Mr.  Simonds  died  two  years  after  this  date,  in  1S40. 


RESULTS. 


Ill 


and  rapid.  Bentley  speaks  to  my  friends  in  extravagant  terms  of  the 
book,  and  states  that  nearly  half  the  edition,  which  was  of  seven  hundred 
and  fifty  copies,  had  been  sold  by  the  end  of  March.5  In  France,  thanks 
to  my  friend  Ticknor,  it  has  been  put  into  the  hands  of  the  principal  savans 
in  the  Castilian.  Copies  have  also  been  sent  to  some  eminent  scholars  in 
Germany.  Thus  far,  therefore,  we  run  before  the  wind.” 

I  will  not  refuse  myself  the  pleasure  of  inserting  what  I  had 
already  written  to  him  from  Paris,  February  20th,  when,  the 
London  copy  he  had  sent  me  having  failed  to  come  to  hand, 
I  had  read  the  first  volume  of  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella”  in  an 
American  copy  which  had  reached  a  friend  in  that  city :  — 

“  I  have  got  hold  of  the  first  volume,  and  may,  perchance,  have  the  luck 
to  see  the  others.  It  has  satisfied  all  my  expectations  ;  and  when  I  tell 
you  that  I  wrote  to  Colonel  Aspinwall  from  Berlin,  nearly  two  years  ago, 
placing  you  quite  at  the  side  of  Irving,  you  will  understand  how  I  feel 
about  it.  I  spoke  conscientiously  when  I  wrote  to  Aspinwall,  and  I  do 
the  same  now.  You  have  written  a  book  that  will  not  be  forgotten.  The 
Dedication  to  your  father  was  entirely  anticipated  by  me,  —  its  tone  and 
its  spirit,  —  everything  except  its  beautiful  words.  He  is  happy  to  have 
received  a  tribute  so  true  and  so  due,  —  so  worthy  of  him  and  so  rarely 
to  be  had  of  any.” 

But  in  the  midst  of  the  happiness  which  his  success  naturally 
produced,  trouble  came  upon  him.  The  family  had  gone,  as 
usual,  to  Pepperell  early  in  the  summer  of  1838,  when  a  severe 
illness  of  his  mother  brought  them  suddenly  back  to  town,  and 
kept  them  there  above  two  months,  at  the  end  of  which  she 
was  happily  restored,  or  nearly  so. 

“  Moved  from  Pepperell,”  lie  says  in  his  private  Memoranda,  “  prema¬ 
turely,  June  26th,  on  account  of  the  distressing  illness  of  my  mother,  which 
still,  July  16th,  detains  us  in  this  pestilent  place,  amidst  heats  which  would 
do  credit  to  the  tropics.  The  same  cause  has  prevented  me  from  giving 
nearly  as  many  hours  to  my  studies  as  I  should  otherwise  have  done,  being 
in  rather  an  industrious  mood.  My  mother's  health,  apparently  improv¬ 
ing,  may  permit  me  to  do  this.” 

But  the  next  notice,  July  27th,  is  more  comfortable  :  — 

“Been  a  month  now  in  Boston,  which  I  find  more  tolerable  than  at  first. 
The  heat  has  much  abated,  and,  indeed,  a  summer  residence  here  has  maDy 
alleviations.  But  I  should  never  prefer  it  to  a  summer  at  Naliant.  Have 
received  an  English  copy  of  ‘  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.’  Better  paper, 

6  Mr.  Bentley  nad  requested  me  to  tell  Mr.  Prescott  that  he  was  proud  of 
having  published  such  a  book,  and  that  he  thought  it  would  prove  the  best 
he  had  ever  brought  out. 


112 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


blacker  ink,  more  showy  pages,  but,  on  the  whole,  not  so  good  type,  and, 
as  the  printer  did  not  receive  the  corrections  in  season  for  the  last  three 
chapters,  there  are  many  verbal  inaccuracies.  The  plates  are  good,  —  the 
portrait  of  Columbus  exquisite,  and  about  as  much  like  him,  I  suppose, 
as  any  other.  On  the  whole,  Bentley  has  done  fairly  by  the  work.  My 
friend  Tieknor  brings  me  home  a  very  favorable  report  of  the  opinions 
expressed  of  the  work  by  French  and  English  scholars.  If  this  report  is 
not  colored  by  his  own  friendship,  the  book  will  take  some  rank  on  the 
other  side  of  the  water.” 

As  he  intimates,  I  was  just  then  returned  from  Europe  after 
an  absence  of  tiiree  years.  He  met  me  at  the  cars  on  my 
arrival  from  New  York,  where  I  had  landed  ;  but  his  counte¬ 
nance  was  sad  and  troubled  with  the  dangerous  illness  of  his 
mother,  then  at  its  height.  I  saw  him,  however,  daily,  and 
talked  with  him  in  the  freest  and  fullest  manner  about  his 
literary  position  and  prospects  ;  giving  him,  without  exaggera¬ 
tion,  an  account  of  the  opinions  held  in  England  and  France 
concerning  his  work,  which  he  could  not  choose  but  find  very 
gratifying. 

I  had,  in  fact,  received  the  book  itself  before  I  left  Pari* 
and  had  given  copies  of  it  to  M.  Guizot,  M.  Mignet,  Count 
Adolphe  de  Circourt,  and  M.  Charles  Fauriel.  The  last  three, 
as  well  as  some  other  friends,  had  expressed  to  me  their  high 
estimation  of  it,  in  terms  very  little  measured,  which  were,  in 
their  substance,  repeated  to  me  later  by  M.  Guizot,  when  he 
had  had  leisure  to  read  it.  Four  persons  better  qualified  to 
judge  the  merits  of  such  a  work  could  not,  I  suppose,  have 
then  been  found  in  France;  and  the  opinion  of  Count  Circourt. 
set  forth  in  the  learned  and  admirable  review  already  alluded 
to,  would,  I  think,  subsequently  have  been  accepted  by  any  one 
of  them  as  substantially  his  own. 

In  England,  where  I  passed  the  spring  and  early  summer. 
I  found  the  same  judgment  was  pronounced  and  pronouncing. 
At  Holland  House,  then  the  highest  tribunal  in  London  on  the 
subject  of  Spanish  history  and  literature,  Lord  Holland  and 
Mr.  John  Allen,  who  were  both  just  finishing  its  perusal,  did 
not  conceal  from  me  the  high  value  they  placed  upon  it ;  Mr 
Allen  telling  me  that  he  regarded  the  introductory  sections  on 
the  constitutional  history  of  Aragon  and  Castile  —  which,  it 
will  be  remembered,  were  three  times  written  over,  and  twice 


OPINION  IN  ENGLAND  AND  FRANCE. 


113 


printed,  before  they  were  finally  given  to  the  press  for  publica¬ 
tion  —  as  possessing  a  very  high  merit  as  statesmanlike  discus¬ 
sions,  and  as  better  than  anything  else  extant  on  the  same 
subject. 6  Southey,  whom  I  afterwards  saw  at  Keswick,  and 
from  whose  judgment  on  anything  relating  to  Spanish  history 
few  would  venture  to  appeal,  volunteered  to  me  an  opinion  no 
less  decisive. 7 

The  more  important  Reviews  had  not  yet  spoken ;  but,  re¬ 
membering  the  wish  expressed  by  my  friend  in  a  letter  to  me 
already  cited,  —  though,  as  he  intimated,  not  needing  such  an 
expression,  —  I  made,  through  the  ready  kindness  of  Lord 
Holland,  arrangements  with  Mr.  McVey  Napier,  the  editor  of 
the  “  Edinburgh  Review,”  for  the  article  in  that  journal  by 
Don  Pascual  de  Gayangos,  of  which  an  account  has  already 
been  given.  Mr.  Lockhart,  the  Aristarch  of  the  “  Quarterly 
Review,”  had  not  read  the  book  when  I  spoke  to  him  about  it, 
but  he  told  me  he  had  heard  from  good  authority  that  “  it  was 
one  that  would  last  ” ;  and  the  result  of  his  own  examination 
of  it  was  Mr.  Ford’s  review,  Mr.  Ford  himself  having  been, 
I  suppose,  the  authority  referred  to.  Mr.  Hallam,  to  whom  I 
sent  a  copy  in  the  author’s  name,  acknowledged  its  receipt  in 
a  manner  the  most  gratifying,  and  so  did  Mr.  Milman ;  both 
of  these  distinguished  and  admirable  men  becoming  afterwards 
personally  attached  to  Mr.  Prescott,  and  corresponding  with 
him,  from  time  to  time,  until  his  death.  These,  and  some 
others  like  them,  were  the  suffrages  that  I  bore  to  my  friend 
on  my  return  home  early  in  July,  and  to  which,  in  the  pas¬ 
sages  I  have  cited  from  his  Memoranda,  he  alludes.  They 
were  all  of  one  temper  and  in  one  tone.  I  had  heard  of  no 
others,  and  had,  therefore,  no  others  to  give  him.  At  home 

*  I  ought,  perhaps,  to  add  here,  that,  by  common  consent  of  the  scholars  of 
the  time,  the  opinion  of  no  man  in  England,  on  such  a  point,  would  have 
been  placed  before  Mr.  Allen’s. 

1  Mr.  Prescott  was  especially  gratified  with  this  opinion  of  Mr.  Southey, 
because  he  had  much  feared  that  the  rejection  of  his  book  by  the  Longmans 
was  the  result  of  advice  from  Southey,  whose  publishers  they  were,  and  who 
was  often  consulted  by  them  respecting  the  publication  of  6uch  works.  But 
the  Longmans  declined  it,  as  Southey  himself  told  me,  only  because  they  did 
not,  at  the  time,  wish  to  increase  their  list  of  new  publications.  The  same 
cause,  I  subsequently  understood,  had  governed  the  decision  of  Murray,  who 
did  not  even  give  the  book  to  anybody  for  getting  a  judgment  on  its  merits. 


114 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


its  success,  I  found,  was  already  fully  assured.  As  Dr.  Chan- 
ning  had  told  him,  “  Your  book  has  been  received  here  with 
acclamation.”  8 

8  A  year  after  its  publication,  the  author  records  very  naturally,  among 
his  private  Memoranda:  “  Dec.  25,  1838.  The  anniversary  of  the  appearance 
of  their  Catholic  Highnesses  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  God  bless  them!  What 
would  I  have  given 'last  year  to  know  they  would  have  run  off  so  glibly?  ” 
I  think  about  twenty-eight  hundred  copies  had  been  sold  in  the  United  States 
when  this  record  was  made,  —  only  a  foretaste  of  the  subsequent  success. 
On  the  1st  of  January,  1860,  the  aggregate  sales  in  the  United  States  and 
England  amounted  to  seventeen  thousand  seven  hundred  and  thirty-one. 


CHAPTER  X. 


1837-1838. 

Ms.  Prescott’s  Character  at  this  Period. — Effect  of  arts  Infirm¬ 
ity  of  Sight  in  forming  it.  —  Noctograph.  —  Distribution  of  his 
Day.  —  Contrivances  for  regulating  the  Light  in  his  Room.  — 
Premature  Decay  of  Sight.  —  Exact  System  of  Exercise  and 
Life  generally.  —  Firm  Will  in  carrying  it  out. 

WHEN  the  “Ferdinand  and  Isabella”  was  published, 
in  the  winter  of  1837  -8,  its  author  was  nearly  forty- 
two  years  old.  His  character,  some  of  whose  traits  had  been 
prominent  from  childhood,  while  others  had  been  slowly  devel¬ 
oped,  was  fully  formed.  Iiis  habits  were  settled  for  life.  He 
had  a  perfectly  well-defined  individuality,  as  everybody  knew 
who  knew  anything  about  his  occupations  and  ways. 

Much  of  what  went  to  constitute  this  individuality  was  the 
result  of  his  infirmity  of  sight,  and  of  the  unceasing  struggle 
he  had  made  to  overcome  the  difficulties  it  entailed  upon 
him.  For,  as  we  shall  see  hereafter,  the  thought  of  this 
infirmity,  and  of  the  embarrassments  it  brought  with  it,  was 
ever  before  him.  It  colored,  and  in  many  respects  it  controlled, 
his  whole  life. 

The  violent  inflammation  that  resulted  from  the  fierce  attack 
of  rheumatism  in  the  early  months  of  1815  first  startled  him, 
I  think,  with  the  apprehension  that  he  might  possibly  be 
deprived  of  sight  altogether,  and  that  thus  his  future  years 
would  be  left  in  “  total  eclipse,  without  all  hope  of  day.” 
But  from  this  dreary  apprehension,  his  recovery,  slow,  and 
partial  as  it  was,  and  the  buoyant  spirits  that  entered  so  largely 
into  his  constitution,  at  last  relieved  him.  He  even,  from  time 
to  time,  as  the  disease  fluctuated  to  and  fro,  had  hopes  of  an 
entire  restoration  of  his  sight. 

But  before  long,  he  began  to  judge  things  more  exactly  as 
they  were,  and  saw  plainly  that  anything  like  a  full  recovery 


116 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


of  his  sight  was  improbable,  if  not  impossible.  He  turned  his 
thoughts,  therefore,  to  the  resources  that  would  still  remain 
to  him.  The  prospect  was  by  no  means  a  pleasant  one,  but 
he  looked  at  it  steadily  and  calmly.  All  thought  of  the  profes¬ 
sion  which  had  long  been  so  tempting  to  him  he  gave  up.  He 
saw  that  he  could  never  fulfil  its  duties.  But  intellectual 
occupation  he  could  not  give  up.  It  was  a  gratification  and 
resource  which  his  nature  demanded,  and  would  not  be  refused. 
The  difficulty  was  to  find  out  how  it  could  be  obtained.  During 
the  three  months  of  his  confinement  in  total  darkness  at  St. 
Michael’s,  he  first  began  to  discipline  his  thoughts  to  such 
orderly  composition  in  his  memory  as  he  might  have  written 
down  on  paper,  if  his  sight  had  permitted  it.  “  I  have  cheated,” 
he  says,  in  a  letter  to  his  family  written  at  the  end  of  that  dis¬ 
couraging  period,  —  “I  have  cheated  many  a  moment  of  tedium 
by  compositions  which  were  soon  banished  from  my  mind  for 
want  of  an  amanuensis.” 

Among  these  compositions  was  a  Latin  ode  to  his  friend 
Gardiner,  which  was  prepared  wholly  without  books,  but 
which,  though  now  lost,  like  the  rest  of  his  Latin  verses,  he 
repeated  years  afterwards  to  his  Club,  who  did  not  fail  to  think 
it  good.  It  is  evident,  however,  that,  for  a  considerable  time, 
he  resorted  to  such  mental  occupations  and  exercises  rather  as 
an  amusement  than  as  anything  more  serious.  Nor  did  he  at 
first  go  far  with  them  even  as  a  light  and  transient  relief  from 
idleness ;  for,  though  he  never  gave  them  up  altogether,  and 
though  they  at  last  became  a  very  important  element  in  his 
success  as  an  author,  he  soon  found  an  agreeable  substitute  for 
them,  at  least  so  far  as  his  immediate,  every-day  wants  were 
concerned. 

The  substitute  to  which  I  refer,  but  which  itself  implied 
much  previous  reflection  and  thought  upon  what  he  should 
commit  to  paper,  was  an  apparatus  to  enable  the  blind  to 
write.  He  heard  of  it  in  London  during  his  first  residence 
there  in  the  summer  of  1816.  A  lady,  at  whose  house  he 
visited  frequently,  and  who  became  interested  in  his  misfortune, 
“  told  him,”  as  he  says  in  a  letter  to  his  mother,  “  of  a  newly 
invented  machine  by  which  blind  people  are  enabled  to  write 
I  have,”  he  adds,  “  before  been  indebted  to  Mrs.  Delafield  for 


NOCTOGRAPH. 


117 


an  ingenious  candle-screen.  If  tliis  machine  can  be  procured, 
you  will  be  sure  to  feel  the  effects  of  it.” 

He  obtained  it  at  once ;  bat  he  did  not  use  it  until  nearly  a 
month  afterwards,  when,  on  the  24th  of  August,  at  Paris,  he 
wrote  home  his  first  letter  with  it,  saying,  “  It  is  a  very  happy 
invention  for  me.”  And  such  it  certainly  proved  to  be,  for  he 
never  ceased  to  use  it  from  that  day ;  nor  does  it  now  seem 
possible  that,  without  the  facilities  it  afforded  him,  he  ever 
would  have  ventured  to  undertake  any  of  the  works  which 
have  made  his  name  what  it  is.1 

The  machine  —  if  machine  it  can  properly  be  called  —  is 
an  apparatus  invented  by  one  of  the  well-known  Wedgewood 
family,  and  is  very  simple  both  in  its  structure  and  use.  It 
looks,  as  it  lies  folded  up  on  the  table,  like  a  clumsy  portfolio, 
bound  in  morocco,  and  measures  about  ten  inches  by  nine 
when  unopened.  Sixteen  stout  parallel  brass  wires  fastened  on 
the  right-hand  side  into  a  frame  of  the  same  size  with  the  cover, 
much  like  the  frame  of  a  school-bov’s  slate,  and  crossing  it 
from  side  to  side,  mark  the  number  of  lines  that  can  be  written 
on  a  page,  and  guide  the  hand  in  its  blind  motions.  This 
framework  of  wires  is  folded  down  upon  a  sheet  of  paper 
thoroughly  impregnated  with  a  black  substance,  especially  on 
its  under  surface,  beneath  which  lies  the  sheet  of  common 
paper  that  is  to  receive  the  writing.  There  are  thus,  when 
it  is  in  use,  three  layers  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  opened 
apparatus  ;  viz.  the  wires,  the  blackened  sheet  of  paper,  and 
the  white  sheet,  • —  all  lying  successively  in  contact  with  each 
other,  the  two  that  are  underneath  being  held  firmly  in  their 
places  by  the  framework  of  wires  which  is  uppermost.  The 
whole  apparatus  is  called  a  noctograph. 

When  it  has  been  adjusted,  as  above  described,  the  person 
using  it  writes  with  an  ivory  style,  or  with  a  style  made  of 
some  harder  substance,  like  agate,  on  the  upper  surface  of  the 
blackened  paper,  which,  wherever  the  style  presses  on  it,  trans- 

1  This  very  apparatus,  the  first  he  ever  had,  it  still  extant.  Indeed,  he  never 
possessed  but  one  other,  and  that  was  its  exact  duplicate.  The  oldest  is 
nearly  used  up.  But,  although  he  never  had  more  than  two  for  himself,  he 
caused  others  to  be  made  for  persons  suffering  under  infirmities  like  his  own, 
—  not  unfrequently  sending  them  to  those  who  were  known  to  him  only  as 
needing  such  help. 


118 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


fere  the  coloring  matter  of  its  under  surface  to  the  white  paper 
beneath  it,  —  the  writing  thus  produced  looking  much  like  that 
done  with  a  common  black-lead  pencil. 

The  chief  difficulty  in  the  use  of  such  an  apparatus  is  obvi¬ 
ous.  The  person  employing  it  never  looks  upon  his  work  ; 
never  sees  one  of  the  marks  he  is  making.  He  trusts  wholly 
to  the  wires  for  the  direction  of  his  hand.  He  makes  his 
letters  and  words  only  from  mechanical  habit.  He  must, 
therefore,  write  straight  forward,  without  any  opportunity  for 
correction,  however  gross  may  be  the  mistakes  he  has  made,  or 
however  sure  he  may  be  that  he  has  made  them ;  for,  if  he 
were  to  go  back  in  order  to  correct  an  error,  he  would  only 
make  his  page  still  more  confused,  and  probably  render  it  quite 
illegible.  When,  therefore,  he  has  made  a  mistake,  great  or 
small,  all  he  can  do  is  to  go  forward,  and  rewrite  further  on 
the  woi'd  or  phrase  he  first  intended  to  write,  rarely  attempt¬ 
ing  to  strike  out  what  was  wrong,  or  to  insert,  in  its  proper 
place,  anything  that  may  have  been  omitted.  It  is  plain, 
therefore,  that  the  person  who  resorts  to  this  apparatus  as  a 
substitute  for  sight  ought  previously  to  prepare  and  settle  in 
his  memory  what  he  wishes  to  write,  so  as  to  make  as  few 
mistakes  as  possible.  With  the  best  care,  his  manuscript  will 
not  be  veiy  legible.  Without  it,  he  may  be  sure  it  can  hardly 
be  deciphered  at  all. 

That  Mr.  Prescott,  under  his  disheartening  infirmities,  —  I 
refer  not  only  to  his  imperfect  sight,  but  to  the  rheumatism 
from  which  he  was  seldom  wholly  free,  —  should,  at  the  age 
of  five-and-twenty  or  thirty,  with  no  help  but  this  simple 
apparatus,  have  aspired  to  the  character  of  an  historian  dealing 
with  events  that  happened  in  times  and  countries  far  distant 
from  his  own,  and  that  are  recorded  chiefly  in  foreign  languages 
and  by  authors  whose  conflicting  testimony  was  often  to  be 
reconciled  by  laborious  comparison,  is  a  remarkable  fact  in 
literary  history.  It  is  a  problem  the  solution  of  which  was, 
I  believe,  never  before  undertaken ;  certainly  never  before 
accomplished.  Nor  do  I  conceive  that  he  himself  could  have 
accomplished  it,  unless  to  his  uncommon  intellectual  gifts  had 
been  added  great  animal  spirits,  a  strong,  persistent  will,  and  a 
moral  courage  which  was  to  be  daunted  by  no  obstacle  that 


ADVENTUROUS  SPIRIT. 


119 


he  might  deem  it  possible  to  remove  by  almost  any  amount  of 
effort.2 

That  he  was  not  insensible  to  the  difficulties  of  his  under¬ 
taking,  we  have  partly  seen,  as  we  have  witnessed  how  his  hopes 
fluctuated  while  he  was  struggling  through  the  arrangements 
for  beginning  to  write  his  “Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  and,  in 
fact,  during  the  whole  period  of  its  composition.  But  he 
showed  the  same  character,  the  same  fertility  of  resource,  every 
day  of  his  life,  and  provided,  both  by  forecast  and  self-sacrifice, 
against  the  embarrassments  of  his  condition  as  they  successively 
presented  themselves. 

The  first  thing  to  be  done,  and  the  thing  always  to  be  re¬ 
peated  day  by  day,  was  to  strengthen,  as  much  as  possible,  what 
remained  of  his  sight,  and  at  any  rate,  to  do  nothing  that  should 
tend  to  exhaust  its  impaired  powers.  In  1821,  when  he  was 
still  not  without  some  hope  of  its  recovery,  he  made  this  mem¬ 
orandum.  “  I  will  make  it  my  principal  purpose  to  restore 
my  eye  to  its  primitive  vigor,  and  will  do  nothing  habitually 
that  can  seriously  injure  it.”  To  this  end  he  regulated  his 
life  with  an  exactness  that  I  have  never  known  equalled. 
Especially  in  whatever  related  to  the  daily  distribution  of  his 
time,  whether  in  regard  to  his  intellectual  labors,  to  his  social 
enjoyments,  or  to  the  care  of  his  physical  powers,  including  his 
diet,  he  was  severely  exact,  —  managing  himself,  indeed,  in  this 
last  respect,  under  the  general  directions  of  his  wise  medical 
adviser,  Dr.  Jackson,  but  carrying  out  these  directions  with  an 
ingenuity  and  fidelity  all  his  own. 

He  was  an  early  riser,  although  it  was  a  great  effort  for  him 
to  be  such.  From  boyhood  it  seemed  to  be  contrary  to  his 
nature  to  get  up  betimes  in  the  morning.  He  was,  therefore, 
always  awaked,  and  after  silently,  and  sometimes  slowly  and 
with  reluctance,  counting  twenty,  so  as  fairly  to  arouse  himself, 

a  The  case  of  Thierry  — -  the  nearest  known  to  me  —  was  different.  His 
great  work,  “  Histoire  de  la  Conquete  de  1’Angleterre  par  les  Normands,” 
was  written  before  he  became  blind.  What  he  published  afterward  was  dic¬ 
tated,  —  wonderful,  indeed,  all  of  it,  but  especially  all  that  relates  to  what  he 
did  for  the  commission  of  the  government  concerning  the  Tiers  Etat,  to  be 
found  in  that  grand  collection  of  “  Documents  inddits  sur  1’ Histoire  de  France,” 
begun  under  the  auspices  and  influence  of  M.  Guizot,  v  hen  he  was  minister 
of  Louis-Philippe. 


120 


WILLIAM  HICKL1NG  PRESCOTT. 


he  resolutely  sprang  out  of  bed ;  or,  if  he  failed,  he  paid  a  for¬ 
feit,  as  a  memento  of  his  weakness,  to  the  servant  who  had 
knocked  at  his  chamber-door.8  His  failures,  however,  were  rare. 
When  he  was  called,  he  was  told  the  state  of  the  weather  and 
of  the  thermometer.  This  was  important,  as  he  was  compelled 
by  his  rheumatism  —  almost  always  present,  and,  when  not 
so,  always  apprehended  —  to  regulate  his  dress  with  care  ;  and, 
finding  it  difficult  to  do  so  in  any  other  way,  he  caused  each 
of  its  heavier  external  portions  to  he  marked  by  his  tailor 
with  the  number  of  ounces  it  weighed,  and  then  put  them  on 
according  to  the  temperature,  sure  that  their  weight  would 
indicate  the  measure  of  warmth  and  protection  they  would 
afford.4 

As  soon  as  he  was  dressed,  he  took  his  early  exercise  in  the 
open  air.  This,  for  many  years,  was  done  on  horseback,  and, 
as  he  loved  a  spirited  home  and  was  often  thinking  more  of  his 
intellectual  pursuits  than  of  anything  else  while  he  was  riding, 
he  sometimes  caught  a  fall.  But  he  was  a  good  rider,  and  was 
sorry  to  give  up  this  form  of  exercise  and  resort  to  walking  or 
driving,  as  he  did,  by  order  of  his  physician,  in  the  last  dozen 
years  of  his  life.  Ho  weather,  except  a  severe  storm,  pre¬ 
vented  him  at  any  period  from  thus,  as  he  called  it,  “  winding 
himself  up.”  Even  in  the  coldest  of  our  very  cold  winter 
mornings,  it  was  his  habit,  so  long  as  he  could  ride,  to  see  the 
sun  rise  on  a  particular  spot  three  or  four  miles  from  town.  In 
a  letter  to  Mis.  Ticknor,  who  was  then  in  Germany,  dated 
March,  1836,  —  at  the  end  of  a  winter  memorable  for  its  ex¬ 
treme  severity,  —  he  says,  “  You  will  give  me  credit  for  some 
spunk  when  I  tell  you  that  I  have  not  been  frightened  by  the 
cold  a  single  morning  from  a  ride  on  horseback  to  Jamaica 
Plain  and  back  again  before  breakfast.  My  mark  has  been 

8  When  he  was  a  bachelor,  the  servant,  after  waiting  a  certain  number  of 
minutes  at  the  door  without  receiving  an  answer,  went  in  and  took  away  the 
bed-clothes.  This  was,  at  that  period,  the  office  of  faithful  Nathan  Webster, 
who  was  remembered  kindly  in  Mr.  Prescott’s  will,  and  who  was  for  nearly 
thirty  years  in  the  family,  a  true  and  valued  friend  of  all  its  members. 

4  As  in  the  case  of  the  use  of  wine,  hereafter  to  be  noticed,  he  made,  from 
year  to  year,  the  most  minute  memoranda  about  the  use  of  clothes,  finding  it 
necessary  to  be  exact  on  account  of  the  rheumatism  which,  besides  almost 
constantly  infesting  his  limbs,  always  aff»  -ted  his  sight  when  it  became 
severe. 


SYSTEMATIC  EXERCISE. 


121 


to  see  the  sun  rise  by  Mr.  Greene's  school,  if  you  remember 
where  that  is.”  When  the  rides  here  referred  to  were  taken, 
the  thermometer  was  often  below  zero  of  Fahrenheit. 

On  his  return  home,  after  adjusting  his  dress  anew,  with  ref¬ 
erence  to  the  temperature  within  doors,  he  sat  down,  almost 
always  in  a  very  gay  humor,  to  a  moderate  and  even  spare 
breakfast,  —  a  meal  he  much  liked,  because,  as  he  said,  he 
could  then  have  his  family  with  him  in  a  quiet  way,  and  so 
begin  the  day  happily.  From  the  breakfast-table  he  went  at 
once  to  his  study.  There,  while  busied  with  what  remained  of 
his  toilet,  or  with  the  needful  arrangements  for  his  regular  oc¬ 
cupations,  Mrs.  Prescott  read  to  him,  generally  from  the  morn¬ 
ing  papers,  but  sometimes  from  the  current  literature  of  the 
day.  At  a  fixed  hour  —  seldom  later  than  ten  —  his  reader, 
or  secretary,  came.  In  this,  as  in  everything,  he  required 
punctuality ;  but  he  noted  tardiness  only  by  looking  significantly 
at  his  watch ;  for  it  is  the  testimony  of  all  his  surviving  secre¬ 
taries,  that  he  never  spoke  a  severe  word  to  either  of  them  in 
the  many  years  of  their  familiar  intercourse. 

When  they  had  met  in  the  study,  there  was  no  thought  but 
of  active  work  for  about  three  hours.5  His  infirmities,  how¬ 
ever,  Avere  always  present  to  warn  him  how  cautiously  it  must 
be  done,  and  he  was  extremely  ingenious  in  the  means  he  de¬ 
vised  for  doing  it  without  increasing  them.  The  shades  and 
shutters  for  regulating  the  exact  amount  of  light  which  should 
be  admitted ;  his  own  position  relatively  to  its  direct  rays,  and 
to  those  that  were  reflected  from  surrounding  objects ;  the 
adaptation  of  his  dress  and  of  the  temperature  of  the  room 
to  his  rheumatic  affections ;  and  the  different  contrivances  for 
taking  notes  from  the  books  that  were  read  to  him,  and  for 
impressing  on  his  memory,  with  the  least  possible  use  of  his 
sight,  such  portions  of  each  as  were  needful  for  his  imme- 

®  I  speak  here  of  the  time  during  which  he  was  busy  with  his  Histories.  In 
the  intervals  between  them,  as,  for  instance,  between  the  “  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella”  and  the  “  Mexico,”  between  the  “Mexico”  and  “Peru,”  &c.,  his 
habits  were  very  different.  At  these  periods  he  indulged,  sometimes  for 
many  months,  in  a  great  deal  of  light,  miscellaneous  reading,  which  he  used 
to  call  “  literary  loafing.”  This  he  thought  not  only  agreeable,  but  refreshing 
and  useful;  though  sometimes  he  complained  bitterly  of  himself  for  carryintf 
his  indulgences  of  this  sort  too  far. 


122 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


diate  purpose,  —  were  all  of  them  the  result  of  painstaking 
experiments,  skilfully  and  patiently  made.  But  their  inge¬ 
nuity  and  adaptation  were  less  remarkable  than  the  conscien¬ 
tious  consistency  with  which  they  were  employed  from  day  to 
day  for  forty  years. 

In  relation  to  all  such  arrangements,  two  circumstances 
should  be  noted. 

The  first  is,  that  the  resources  of  his  eye  were  always  very 
small  and  uncertain,  except  for  a  few  years,  beginning  in  1840, 
when,  from  his  long-continued  prudence  or  from  some  inscruta¬ 
ble  cause,  there  seemed  to  be  either  an  increase  of  strength 
in  the  organ,  or  else  such  a  diminution  of  its  sensibility  as  en¬ 
abled  him  to  use  it  more,  though  its  strength  might  really  be 
diminished. 

Thus,  for  instance,  he  -was  able  to  use  his  eye  very  little  in 
the  preparation  of  the  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  not  looking 
into  a  book  sometimes  for  weeks  and  even  months  together, 
and  yet  occasionally  he  could  read  several  hours  in  a  day  if  he 
carefully  divided  the  whole  into  short  portions,  so  as  to  avoid 
fatigue.  While  engaged  in  the  composition  of  the  “  Conquest 
of  Mexico,”  on  the  contrary,  he  was  able  to  read  with  consider¬ 
able  regularity,  and  so  he  was  while  working  on  the  “  Conquest 
of  Peru,”  though,  on  the  whole,  with  less.8 

But  he  had,  during  nearly  all  tins  time,  another  difficulty  to 
encounter.  There  had  come  on  prematurely  that  gradual 
alteration  of  the  eye  which  is  the  consequence  of  advancing 
years,  and  for  which  the  common  remedy  is  spectacles.  Even 
when  he  was  using  what  remained  to  him  of  sight  on  the 

6  How  uncertain  was  the  state  of  his  eye,  even  when  it  was  strongest,  may 
be  seen  from  memoranda  made  at  different  times  within  less  than  two  years 
of  each  other.  The  first  is  in  January,  1829,  when  he  was  full  of  grateful 
feelings  for  an  unexpected  increase  of  his  powers  of  sight.  “  By  the  blessing 
of  Heaven,”  he  says,  “  I  have  been  enabled  to  have  the  free  use  of  my  eye 
in  the  daytime  during  the  last  weeks,  without  the  exception  of  a  single 
day,  although  deprived,  for  nearly  a  fortnight,  of  my  accustomed  exercise. 
I  hope  I  have  not  abused  this  great  privilege.”  But  this  condition  of 
things  did  not  last  long.  Great  fluctuations  followed.  In  August  and  Sep¬ 
tember  he  was  much  discouraged  by  severe  inflammations;  and  in  October, 
1830,  when  he  had  been  slowly  writing  the  “Ferdinand  and  Isabella”  for 
about  a  year,  his  sight  for  a  time  became  so  much  impaired  that  he  was 
brought  —  I  use  his  own  words  —  “  seriously  to  consider  what  steps  he  should 
take  in  relation  to  that  work,  if  his  sight  should  fail  him  altogether.” 


UNCERTAIN  CONDITION  OF  HIS  SIGHT. 


123 


“  Conquest  of  Mexico  ”  with  a  freedom  which  not  a  little  ani¬ 
mated  him  in  his  pursuits,  he  perceived  this  discouraging 
change.  In  July,  1841,  he  says:  “  My  eye,  for  some  days, 
feels  dim.  ‘I  guess. and  fear,’  as  Burns  says.”  And  in  June, 
1842,  when  our  families  were  spending  together  at  Lebanon 
Springs  a  few  days  which  he  has  recorded  as  otherwise  very 
happy,  he  spoke  to  me  more  than  once  in  a  tone  of  absolute 
grief,  that  he  should  never  again  enjoy  the  magnificent  specta¬ 
cle  of  the  starry  heavens.  To  this  sad  deprivation  he,  in  fact, 
alludes  himself  in  his  Memoranda  of  that  period,  where,  in  re¬ 
lation  to  his  eyes,  he  says :  “  I  find  a  misty  veil  increasing 
over  them,  quite  annoying  when  reading.  The  other  evening 

B -  said,  ‘  How  beautiful  the  heavens  are  with  so  many 

stars !  ’  I  could  hardly  see  two.  It  made  me  sad.” 

Spectacles,  however,  although  they  brought  their  appropriate 
relief,  brought  also  an  inevitable  inconvenience.  They  fatigued 
his  eye.  He  could  use  it,  therefore,  less  and  less,  or  if  he  used 
it  at  all,  beyond  a  nicely  adjusted  amount,  the  excess  was 
followed  by  a  sort  of  irritability,  weakness,  and  pain  in  the 
organ  which  he  had  not  felt  for  many  years.  This  went  on 
increasing  with  sad  regularity.  But  he  knew  that  it  was 
inevitable,  and  submitted  to  it  patiently.  In  the  latter  part  of 
his  life  he  was  able  to  use  his  eye  very  little  indeed  for  the 
purpose  of  reading,  —  in  the  last  year,  hardly  at  all.  Even  in 
several  of  the  years  preceding,  he  used  it  only  thirty-five  minutes 
in  each  day,  divided  exactly  by  the  watch  into  portions  of  five 
minutes  each,  with  at  least  half  an  hour  between,  and  always 
stopping  the  moment  pain  was  felt,  even  if  it  were  felt  at  the 
first  instant  of  opening  the  book.  I  doubt  whether  a  more  per¬ 
sistent,  conscientious  care  was  ever  taken  of  an  impaired  physi¬ 
cal  power.  Indeed,  I  do  not  see  how  it  could  have  been  made 
more  thorough.  But  all  care  was  unavailing,  and  he  at  last 
knew  that  it  was  so.  The  decay  could  not  be  arrested.  He 
spoke  of  it  rarely,  but  when  he  perceived  that  in  the  evening 
twilight  he  could  no  longer  walk  about  the  streets  that  were 
familiar  to  him  with  his  accustomed  assurance,  he  felt  it 
deeply.  Still  he  persevered,  and  was  as  watchful  of  what 
remained  of  his  sight  as  if  his  hopes  of  its  restoration  had 
continued  unchecked.  Indeed,  I  think  he  always  trusted  that 


124 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


he  was  saving  something  by  his  anxious  care  ;  he  always  be¬ 
lieved  that  great  prudence  on  one  day  would  enable  him  to  do 
a  little  more  work  on  the  next  than  he  should  be  able  to  do 
without  so  much  caution. 

The  other  circumstance  that  should  be  noticed  in  relation 
to  the  arrangements  for  his  pursuits  is,  the  continually  in 
creased  amount  of  light  he  was  obliged  to  use,  and  which  he 
could  use  without  apparent  injury. 

In  Bedford  Street,  where  he  first  began  Iris  experiments, 
he  could,  from  the  extreme  sensitiveness  of  his  eye,  bear  very 
little  light.  But,  even  before  he  left  that  quiet  old  mansion, 
he  cut  out  a  new  window  in  his  working-room,  arranging  it  so 
that  the  light  should  fall  more  strongly  and  more  exclusively 
upon  the  book  lie  might  be  using.  This  did  very  well  for 
a  time.  But  when  he  removed  to  Beacon  Street,  the  room 
he  built  expressly  for  his  own  use  contained  six  contiguous 
windows ;  two  of  which,  though  large,  were  glazed  each  with  a 
single  sheet  of  the  finest  plate-glass,  nicely  protected  by  several 
curtains  of  delicate  fabric  and  of  a  light-blue  color,  one  or 
more  of  which  could  be  drawn  up  over  each  window  to  tem¬ 
per  the  light  while  the  whole  light  that  was  admitted  through 
any  one  opening  could  be  excluded  by  solid  wooden  shutters. 
At  first,  though  much  light  was  commonly  used,  these  appli¬ 
ances  for  diminishing  it  were  all  more  or  less  required.  But, 
gradually,  one  alter  another  of  them  was  given  up,  and,  at  last, 
I  observed  that  none  was  found  important.  He  needed  and 
used  all  the  light  he  could  get. 

The  change  was  a  sad  one,  and  he  did  not  like  to  allude  to 
it.  But  during  the  last  year  of  his  life,  after  the  first  slight 
access  of  paralysis,  which  much  disturbed  the  organ  for  a  time, 
and  rendered  its  action  very  irregular,  he  spoke  plainly  to  me. 
He  said  he  must  soon  cease  to  use  his  eye  for  any  purpose 
of  study,  but  fondly  trusted  that  he  should  always  be  able  to 
recognize  the  features  of  his  friends,  and  should  never  become 
a  burden  to  those  he  loved  by  needing  to  be  led  about.  His 
hopes  were,  indeed,  fulfilled,  but  not  without  the  sorrow  of 
all.  The  day  before  his  sudden  death  he  walked  the  streets  as 
freely  as  he  had  done  for  years. 

Still,  whatever  may  have  been  the  condition  of  Vj’S  eye  at 


CHANGE  IN  THE  STATE  OE  THE  EYE. 


125 


any  period,  —  from  the  fierce  attack  of  1815  to  the  very  end 
of  his  life,  —  it  was  always  a  paramount  subject  of  anxiety 
with  him.  He  never  ceased  to  think  of  it,  and  to  regulate 
the  hours,  and  almost  the  minutes,  of  his  daily  life  by  it. 
Even  in  its  best  estate  he  felt  that  it  must  be  spared ;  in  its 
worst,  he  was  anxious  to  save  something  by  care  and  abstinence. 
He  said,  “  he  reckoned  time  by  eyesight,  as  distances  on  rail¬ 
roads  are  reckoned  by  hours.” 

One  thing  in  this  connection  may  be  noted  as  remarkable. 
He  knew  that,  if  he  would  give  up  literary  labor  altogether, 
his  eye  would  be  better  at  once,  and  would  last  longer.  His 
physicians  all  told  him  so,  and  their  opinion  was  rendered 
certain  by  his  own  experience ;  for  whenever  he  ceased  to 
work  for  some  time,  as  during  a  visit  to  New  York  in  1842 
and  a  visit  to  Europe  in  1850,  —  in  short,  whenever  he  took  a 
journey  or  indulged  himself  in  holidays  of  such  a  sort  as  pre¬ 
vented  him  from  looking  into  books  at  all  or  thinking  much 
about  them,  —  his  general  health  immediately  became  more 
vigorous  than  might  have  been  expected  from  a  relief  so  tran¬ 
sient,  and  his  sight  was  always  improved ;  sometimes  materially 
improved.  But  he  would  not  pay  the  price.  He  preferred  to 
submit,  if  it  should  be  inevitable,  to  the  penalty  of  ultimate 
blindness,  rather  than  give  up  his  literary  pursuits. 

He  never  liked  to  work  more  than  three  hours  consecutively. 
At  one  o’clock,  therefore,  he  took  a  walk  of  about  two  miles, 
and  attended  to  any  little  business  abroad  that  was  incumbent 
on  him,  coming  home  generally  refreshed  and  exhilarated,  and 
ready  to  lounge  a  little  and  gossip.  Dinner  followed,  for  the 
greater  part  of  his  life  about  three  o’clock,  although,  during  a 
few  years,  he  dined  in  winter  at  five  or  six,  which  he  preferred, 
and  which  he  gave  up  only  because  his  health  demanded  the 
change.  In  the  summer  he  always  dined  early,  so  as  to  have  the 
late  afternoon  for  driving  and  exercise  during  our  hot  season. 

He  enjoyed  the  pleasures  of  the  table,  and  even  its  luxuries, 
more  than  most  men.  But  he  restricted  himself  carefully  in 
the  use  of  them,  adjusting  everything  with  reference  to  its 
effect  on  the  power  of  using  his  eye  immediately  afterwards,  and 
especially  on  his  power  of  using  it  the  next  day.  Occasional 
indulgence  when  dining  out  or  with  friends  at  home  he  found 


126 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


useful,  or  at  least  not  injurious,  and  was  encouraged  in  it  by  Ins 
medical  counsel.  But  lie  dined  abroad,  as  lie  did  everything 
of  the  sort,  at  regulated  intervals,  and  not  only  determined  be¬ 
forehand  in  what  he  should  deviate  from  his  settled  habits,  but 
often  made  a  record  of  the  result  for  his  future  government. 

The  most  embarrassing  question,  however,  as  to  diet,  regard¬ 
ed  the  use  of  wine,  which,  if  at  first  it  sometimes  seemed  to  be 
followed  by  bad  consequences,  was  yet,  on  the  whole,  found  use¬ 
ful,  and  was  prescribed  to  him.  To  make  everything  certain, 
and  settle  the  precise  point  to  which  he  should  go,  lie  instituted 
a  series  of  experiments,  and  between  March,  1818,  and  Novem¬ 
ber  1820,  —  a  period  of  two  years  and  nine  months,  he  re¬ 
corded  the  exact  quantity  of  wine  that  he  took  every  day, 
except  the  few  days  when  he  entirely  abstained.  It  was 
Sherry  or  Madeira.  In  the  great  majority  of  cases  —  lour 
fifths,  I  should  think  — it  ranged  from  one  to  two  glasses, 
but  went  up  sometimes  to  four  or  five,  and  even  to  six.  lie 
settled  at  last,  upon  two  or  two  and  a  half  as  the  quantity  best 
suited  to  his  case,  and  persevered  in  this  as  Ins  daily  habit,  un  i 
the  last  year  of  his  life,  during  which  a  peculiar  regimen  was 
imposed  upon  him  from  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  his  health 
In  all  this  I  wish  to  be  understood  that  he  was  rigorous  with 
himself,  —  much  more  so  than  persons  thought  who  saw  him 
only  when  he  was  dining  with  friends,  and  when,  but  equally 
upon  system  and  principle,  he  was  much  more  free. 

1  He  generally  smoked  a  single  weak  cigar  after  dinner,  and 
listened  at  the  same  time  to  light  reading  from  Mrs.  Prescott. 
A  walk  of  two  miles  — more  or  less  —  followed ;  but  always 
enough,  after  the  habit  of  riding  was  given  up,  to  make  tne 
full  amount  of  six  miles’  walking  for  the  day’s  exercise,  an 
then,  between  five  and  eight,  he  took  a  cup  of  tea,  and  had  his 
reader  with  him  for  work  two  hours  more. 

The  labors  of  the  day  were  now  definitively  ended.  He 
came  down  from  his  study  to  his  library,  and  either  sat  there 
or  walked  about  while  Mrs.  Prescott  read  to  him  from  some 
amusing  book,  generally  a  novel,  and,  above  all  other  nove  s, 
those  of  Scott  and  Miss  Edgeworth.  In  all  this  he  took  great 
solace.  He  enjoyed  the  room  as  well  as  the  reading,  and,  as  he 
moved  about,  would  often  stop  before  the  books,  —  especially 


HABITS. 


127 


his  favorite  books,  ■ —  and  be  sure  that  they  were  all  in  their 
proper  places,  drawn  up  exactly  to  the  front  of  their  respective 
shelves,  like  soldiers  on  a  dress-parade,  —  sometimes  speaking 
of  them,  and  almost  to  them,  as  if  they  were  personal  friends. 

At  half  past  ten,  having  first  taken  nearly  another  glass  of 
wine,  he  went  to  bed,  fell  asleep  quickly,  and  slept  soundly  and 
well.  Suppers  he  early  gave  up,  although  they  were  a  form  of 
social  intercourse  much  liked  in  his  father’s  house,  and  common 
thirty  or  forty  years  ago  in  the  circle  to  which  he  belonged. 
Besides  all  other  reasons  against  them,  he  found  that  the  lights 
oommonly  on  the  table  shot  their  horizontal  rays  so  as  to  in¬ 
jure  his  suffering  organ.  Larger  evening  parties,  which  were 
not  so  liable  to  this  objection,  he  liked  rather  for  their  social  in¬ 
fluences  than  for  the  pleasure  they  gave  him  ;  but  he  was  seen 
in  them  to  the  last,  though  rarely  and  only  for  a  short  time  in 
each.  Earlier  in  life,  when  he  enjoyed  them  more  and  stayed 
later,  he  would,  in  the  coldest  winter  nights,  after  going  home, 
run  up  and  down  on  a  plank  walk,  so  arranged  in  the  garden 
of  the  Bedford-Street  house  that  he  could  do  it  with  his  eyes 
shut,  for  twenty  minutes  or  more,  in  order  that  his  system  might 
be  refreshed,  and  his  sight  invigorated,  for  the  next  morning’s 
work.7  Later,  unhappily,  this  was  not  needful.  His  eye  had 
lost  the  sensibility  that  gave  its  value  to  such  a  habit. 

In  his  exercise,  at  all  its  assigned  hours,  he  was  faithful  and 
exact.  If  a  violent  storm  prevented  him  from  going  out, 
or  if  the  bright  snow  on  sunny  days  in  winter  rendered  it  dan¬ 
gerous  for  him  to  expose  his  eye  to  its  brilliant  reflection,  he 
would  dress  himself  as  for  the  street  and  walk  vigorously 
about  the  colder  parts  of  the  house,  or  he  would  saw  and  chop 
fire-wood,  under  cover,  being,  in  the  latter  case,  read  to  all  the 
while. 

The  result  he  sought,  and  generally  obtained,  by  these  efforts 
was  not,  however,  always  to  be  had  without  suffering.  The 

1  Some  persons  may  think  this  to  have  been  a  fancy  of  my  friend,  or  an 
over-nice  estimate  of  the  value  of  the  open  air.  But  others  have  found  the 
same  benefit  who  needed  it  less.  Sir  Charles  Bell  says,  in  his  journal,  that  he 
used  to  sit  in  the  open  air  a  great  deal,  and  read  or  draw,  because  on  the  fol¬ 
lowing  day,  he  found  himself  so  much  better  able  to  work.  Some  of  the  best 
passages  in  his  great  treatises  were,  he  says,  written  under  these  circum¬ 
stances. 


128 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


first  mile  or  two  of  his  walk  often  cost  him  pain  —  sometimes 
sharp  pain  —  in  consequence  of  the  rheumatism,  which  seldom 
deserted  his  limbs  ;  but  he  never  on  this  account  gave  it  up ; 
for  regular  exercise  in  the  open  air  was,  as  he  well  knew, 
indispensable  to  the  preservation  of  whatever  remained  of  his 
decaying  sight.  He  persevered,  therefore,  through  the  last 
two  suffering  years  of  his  life,  when  it  was  peculiarly  irksome 
and  difficult  for  him  to  move ;  and  even  in  the  days  imme¬ 
diately  preceding  his  first  attack  of  paralysis,  when  he  was 
very  feeble,  he  was  out  at  his  usual  hours.  His  will,  in  truth, 
was  always  stronger  than  the  bodily  ills  that  beset  him,  and 
prevailed  over  them  to  the  last.8 

8  On  one  occasion,  when  he  was  employed  npon  a  work  that  interested  him 
because  it  related  to  a  friend,  he  was  attacked  with  pains  that  made  a  sitting 
posture  impossible.  But  he  would  not  yield.  He  took  his  noctograph  to  a 
sofa,  and  knelt  before  it  so  as  to  be  able  to  continue  his  work.  This  resource, 
however,  failed,  and  then  he  laid  himself  down  flat  upon  the  floor.  This 
extraordinary  operation  went  on  during  portions  of  nine  successive  days. 


CHAPTER  XI 


1837-1838, 


Mb.  Pkescott’s  Social  Character.  —  Remarks  on  ir  by  Mr.  Oabdp 
nek  and  Mu.  Parsons. 


TRUE  and  sufficient  understanding  of  Mr.  Prescott  s 


inodes  of  life  cannot  be  obtained  without  a  more  de¬ 


tailed  account  than  has  been  thus  far  given  of  his  social 
relations,  and  of  the  exactness  with  which  he  controlled  and 
governed  them. 

“Never  was  there,”  says  his  friend  Mr.  Gardiner,  in  an  interesting  paper 
addressed  to  me,  on  this  side  of  our  friend’s  character,  —  “Never  was  there 
a  man,  who,  by  natural  constitution,  had  a  keener  zest  of  social  enjoyment 
in  all  its  varieties.  His  friend  Mr.  Parsons  says  of  him,  that  one  of  the 
‘  most  remarkable  traits  of  this  remarkable  man  was  his  singular  capacity 
of  enjoyment.  He  could  be  happy  in  more  ways,  and  more  happy  in 
every  one  of  them,  than  any  other  person  I  have  ever  known.’  This  may 
be  a  strong  manner  of  stating  the  characteristic  referred  to  ;  but  so  far  as 
respects  one  of  his  chief  sources  of  happiness,  —  social  enjoyment,  —  the 
idea  would  seem  to  be  exemplified  by  the  very  different  kinds  of  society 
from  which  he  appeared  to  derive  almost  equal  pleasure. 

“  So,  in  regard  to  his  capacity  of  imparting  pleasure  to  others,  Mr. 
Parsons  makes  an  equally  strong  statement ;  but  it  is  one  I  fully  concur 
in.  ‘  If  I  were  asked,’  he  says,  ‘  to  name  the  man,  whom  I  have  known, 
whose  coming  was  most  stive  to  be  hailed  as  a  pleasant  event  by  all  whom 
he  approached,  I  should  not  only  place  Prescott  at  the  head  of  the  list,  but 
I  could  not  place  any  other  man  near  him.’  I  also  must  bear  testimony, 
that  I  never  have  known  any  other  man  whose  company  was  so  univer¬ 
sally  attractive,  —  equally  so  to  men  and  to  women,  to  young  and  to  old, 
and  to  all  classes  that  he  mingled  with. 

“  With  these  capacities  for  both  giving  and  receiving  the  highest  degree 
of  pleasure  in  social  entertainment,  there  is  no  cause  for  wonder  that  this 
should  have  been  with  him  a  favorite  pursuit.  The  wonder  is,  rather,  that 
he  should  always  —  at  least  after  the  first  effervescence  of  youth  —  have 
kept  it  in  such  perfect  subordination  to  those  more  important  pursuits 
which  were  the  business,  and  at  the  same  time,  on  the  whole,  the  highest 
enjoyment,  of  his  life.  I  use  the  term  pursuit,  applying  it  to  the  one  ob¬ 
ject  no  less  than  the  other  ;  for  this  it  is  which  constitutes  the  peculiarity. 
Both  were  pursued  at  the  same  time,  ardently  and  systematically.  Noither 
was  sacrificed  to  the  other  for  any  great  length  of  time.  He  felt  that  a  due 


130 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  FRESCO!  T. 


proportion  of  each  —  literary  labor  and  social  amusement  —  was  essential 
to  his  happiness,  and  he  studied  the  philosophy  of  life,  both  theoretically 
and  practically,  with  teferonce  to  his  own  natural  temper  and  constitution, 
to  ascertain  in  what  proportions  they  could  best  be  combined  to  answer  his 
whole  purpose. 

“  These  proportions  varied  certainly  at  different  times.  There  was  a 
natural  tendency  of  the  graver  pursuits  to  predominate  more  and  more  as 
ne  advanced  in  age,  but  never  to  the  entire  exclusion  of  a  perfectly  youth¬ 
ful  enjoyment  of  whatever  society  he  sought.  There  were,  too,  periods 
of  close  retirement,  —  chiefly  during  his  villegiaturas  as  he  used  to  call  his 
country  life,  —  when  he  devoted  himself,  for  a  time  almost  exclusively,  to 
bis  studies  and  compositions,  with  little  addition  to  the  agreeable  social 
circle  and  quiet  domestic  life  of  his  own  and  his  father’s  family.  But  there 
were  also  corresponding  periods  of  great  relaxation,  —  what  he  used  to  call 
bis  ‘  loafing  times,’  —  not  always  of  short  duration  either,  —  especially  in 
the  interval  between  one  long  labor  finished  and  the  beginning  of  another. 
At  these  periods  he  gave  himself  up  to  a  long  holiday,  dividing  his  time 
almost  wholly  between  the  lightest  literature  and  a  great  deal  of  social 
amusement.  There  was  usually  something  of  this,  though  for  a  shorter 
term,  when  he  first  returned  to  the  city,  after  a  summer  or  autumn  cam¬ 
paign  at  Pepperell.  And  seldom,  when  away  from  Pepperell,  was  he  so 
hard  at  work  as  not  to  enjoy  an  ample  allowance  of  social  pleasure.  Nay, 
at  the  period  of  his  life  when  he  used  to  pass  a  long  summer,  as  well  as 
autumn,  at  Pepperell,  —  that  is,  before  either  he  or  his  father  had  a  house 
on  the  sca-shore,  —  it  was  his  custom  to  find  an  excuse  for  an  occasional 
visit  of  a  day  or  two  to  the  city,  when  Ire  always  arranged  for,  and  counted 
upon,  at  least  one  gay  meeting  of  old  friends  at  the  dinner-table.  After 
he  became  a  summer  inhabitant  of  Nahant,  living  in  the  unavoidable  pub¬ 
licity  of  a  fashionable  watering-place,  the  difficulty  was  to  guard  against 
the  intrusion  of  too  much  company,  rather  than  to  get  the  quantum  he 
required.  This  was  among  the  causes  which  led  him,  in  later  years,  to 
forsake  Nahant  for  his  more  quiet  sea-shore  residence  at  Lynn.  But, 
wherever  Iris  residence  was,  frequent  recreations  of  society  —  domestic, 
fashionable,  literary,  and  convivial  —  were  as  much  a  part  of  his  plan  of 
life  as  the  steady  continuance  of  historical  studies  and  labors  of  authorship. 

“  Yet,  both  before  and  after  the  publication  of  his  1  Perdinand  and  Isa¬ 
bella,’ —  the  first  notice,  be  it  remembered,  even  to  his  personal  friends, 
of  his  extraordinary  merits  as  a  man  of  letters,  —  he  was  scrupulously 
observant  of  hours.  Though  indulging  so  freely,  and  with  such  a  zest,  in 
this  round  of  various  society,  he  would  never  allow  himself  to  be  drawn 
by  it  into  very  late  sittings.  This  was  partly,  no  doubt,  from  domestic 
considerations  regarding  the  general  habit  of  his  father’s  household,  con¬ 
tinued  afterwards  in  his  own,  but  mainly  because  he  began  the  day  early, 
and  chose  to  keep  his  study  hours  of  the  morrow  unimpaired.  Except, 
therefore,  on  some  extraordinary  and  foreseen  occasions  of  his  earlier  days, 
carefully  arranged  for  beforehand,  he  used  to  make  a  point  of  quitting  the 
company,  of  whatever  kind,  and  whatever  might  be  its  attractions,  at  his 
hour.  This  was,  for  a  long  time,  ten  o’clock.  It  did  not  mean  ten  o’clock 
or  thereabouts,  as  most  men  would  have  made  it ;  but  at  ten  precisely  he 
would  insist  on  going,  in  spite  of  all  entreaty,  as  if  to  an  engagement  of 
the  last  importance. 


SOCIAL  CHARACTER. 


131 


“  I  remember  particularly  one  instance  to  illustrate  this.  It  occurred  at 
some  time  while  he  was  yet  a  member  of  his  father’s  family,  but,  I  think, 
after  his  marriage,  and  certainly  before  he  had  published  himself  to  the 
world  as  an  author,  —  that  is,  while  he  was  scarcely  known  to  many  persons 
as  one  engaged  in  any  serious  occupation.  The  case  left  an  impression, 
because  on  this  occasion  Mr.  Prescott,  though  not  in  his  own  house,  was 
not  a  guest,  but  the  entertainer,  at  a  restaurateur’s,  of  an  invited  company 
of  young  men,  chiefly  of  the  bon-vivant  order.  He  took  that  mode  some¬ 
times  of  giving  a  return  dinner  to  avoid  intruding  too  much  on  the  hospi¬ 
tality  of  his  father’s  roof,  as  well  as  to  put  at  ease  the  sort  of  company 
which  promised  exuberant  mirth.  His  dinner  hour  was  set  early ;  pur¬ 
posely,  no  doubt,  that  all  might  be  well  over  in  good  season.  But  it 
proved  to  be  a  prolonged  festivity.  Under  the  brilliant  auspices  of  their 
host,  who  was  never  in  higher  spirits,  the  company  became  very  gay,  and 
not  at  all  disposed  to  abridge  their  gayety,  even  after  a  reasonable  number 
of  hours.  As  the  hour  of  ten  drew  near,  I  noticed  that  Prescott  was  be¬ 
ginning  to  get  a  little  fidgety,  and  to  drop  some  hints,  which  no  one  seemed 
willing  to  take,  —  for  no  one  present,  unless  it  were  myself,  was  aware  that 
time  was  of  any  more  importance  to  our  host  than  it  was  to  many  of  his 
guests.  Presently,  to  the  general  surprise,  the  host  himself  got  up  abruptly, 
and  addressed  the  company  nearly  as  follows  :  ‘  Really,  my  friends,  I  am 
very  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  tear  myself  from  you  at  so  very  unreasonable 
an  hour ;  but  you  seem  to  have  got  your  sitting-breeches  on  for  the  night. 
I  left  mine  at  home,  and  must  go.  But  I  am  sure  you  will  be  very  soon 
in  no  condition  to  miss  me,  —  especially  as  I  leave  behind  that  excellent 
representative,’  —  pointing  to  a  basket  of  several  yet  uncorked  bottles, 
which  stood  in  a  corner.  *  Then  you  know,’  he  added,  ‘  you  are  just  as 
much  at  home  in  this  house  as  I  am.  You  can  call  for  what  you  like. 
Don’t  be  alarmed,  —  I  mean  on  my  account.  I  abandon  to  you,  without 
reserve,  all  my  best  wine,  my  credit  with  the  house,  and  my  reputation  to 
boot.  Make  free  with  them  all,  I  beg  of  you,  —  and,  if  you  don’t  go  home 
till  morning,  I  wish  you  a  merry  night  of  it.’  With  this  he  was  off,  and 
the  Old  South  clock,  hard  by,  was  heard  to  strike  ten  at  the  instant.” 

Mr.  Gardiner,  in  the  preceding  remarks,  refers  more  than 
once  to  the  opinions  of  Professor  Theophilus  Parsons  on  Mr. 
Prescott’s  social  character.  They  are  contained  in  a  paper 
wliicli  this  early  and  intimate  friend  of  the  historian  was  good 
enough  to  give  me  ,  hut  there  are  other  portions  of  the  same 
paper  so  true,  and  so  happily  expressed,  that  I  should  be  un¬ 
just  to  my  readers,  if  I  were  not  to  give  them  more  than  the 
glimpses  afforded  in  Mr.  Gardiner’s  remarks. 

Speaking  of  Mr.  Prescott’s  “  marvellous  popularity,”  Mr. 
Parsons  goes  on  :  — 

“  I  do  not  speak  of  this  as  his  success  in  society,  for  that  would  imply 
that  he  sought  lor  popularity  and  aimed  at  it,  and  this  would  be  wholly 
untrue.  It  was  not  perhaps  undesired,  and  it  certainly  was  neither  ud 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


I  -j2 

known  nor  unwelcome  to  him.  But  it  came,  not  because  he  made  any 
effort  to  procure  it,  but  simply  because  it  was  inevitable,  by  which  I  mean 
that  it  was  the  necessary  effect  of  the  combination  of  certain  qualities  in 
his  character.  Foremost  among  these,  undoubtedly,  was  his  universal, 
constant,  and  extreme  kindness  of  heart,  and  its  fitting  exponent  in  as 
sweet  a  temper  as  ever  man  had.  But  even  these  would  not  have  sufficed, 
but  for  his  capacity  for  sympathy,  a  quality  which  is  not  always  the  com¬ 
panion  of  a  real  benevolence . If  Prescott  never  demanded  or  desired 

that  others  should  stand  around  and  bow  to  him,  it  was  not  because  he 
could  have  no  reason  for  claiming  this.  For  all  whom  lie  came  near  felt, 
what  he  never  seemed  to  feel,  that  there  was,  if  not  some  renunciation  of 
right,  at  least  a  charming  forgetfulness  of  self,  in  the  way  in  which  he 
asserted  no  superiority  over  any,  but  gave  himself  up  to  the  companion  of 
the  moment,  with  the  evident  desire  to  make  him  as  happy  as  he  could. 
And  his  own  prompt  and  active  sympathy  awoke  the  sympathy  of  others. 
His  gayety  became  theirs.  He  came,  always  bringing  the  gift  of  cheerful¬ 
ness,  and  always  offering  it  with  such  genuine  cordiality,  that  it  was  sure 
to  be  accepted,  and  returned  with  increase.  No  wonder  that  he  was  just 
as  welcome  everywhere  as  sunshine.  If  I  were  asked  to  name  the  man 
whom  I  have  known,  whose  coming  was  most  sure  to  be  hailed  as  a  pleas¬ 
ant  event  by  all  whom  he  approached,  I  should  not  only  place  Prescott  at 
the  head  of  the  list,  but  I  could  not  place  any  other  man  near  him.  And 
with  all  tins  universal  sympathy  there  was  never  any  sacrifice  or  loss  of 
himself.  He  did  not  go  willingly  to  others  because  his  mind  had  no  home 
of  its  own.  When  we  see  one  seeking  society  often,  and  enjoying  it  with 
peculiar  relish,  we  can  hardly  forbear  thinking  that  he  thus  comes  abroad 
to  find  necessary  recreation,  and  that,  even  if  he  be  content  at  home,  his 
joys  are  elsewhere.  Nothing  could  be  less  true  of  Prescott.  It  would 
have  been  equally  difficult  for  one  who  knew  him  only  in  his  home  activi¬ 
ties  and  his  home  happiness,  or  only  in  the  full  glow  of  his  social  pleas¬ 
ures,  to  believe  that  he  knew  but  half  of  the  man,  and  that  the  other  half 
was  quite  as  full  of  its  own  life,  and  its  own  thorough  enjoyment,  as  the 
naif  he  saw.” 


CHAPTER  XII. 


1837. 

Mb.  Prescott’s  Industry  and  general  Character  based  on  Prin¬ 
ciple  and  on  Self-sacrifice.  —  Temptations.  —  Expedients  to 
overcome  them.  —  Experiments.  —  Notes  of  what  is  read  to  him. 
—  Composes  without  writing.  —  Severe  Discipline  of  his  Moral 
and  Religious  Character.  —  Dislikes  to  have  his  Habits  inter¬ 
fered  with.  —  Never  shows  Constraint.  — -  Freedom  of  Manner 
in  his  Family  and  in  Society.  —  His  Influence  on  Others.  —  His 
Charity  to  the  Poor.  —  Instance  of  it. 

MR.  PRESCOTT  early  discovered  what  many,  whose 
social  position  makes  no  severe  demand  on  them  for 
exertion,  fail  to  discover  until  it  is  too  late,  —  I  mean,  that 
industry  of  some  sort  and  an  earnest  use  of  whatever  faculties 
God  has  given  us,  are  essential  to  even  a  moderate  amount  of 
happiness  in  this  world.  He  did  not,  however,  come  to  this 
conclusion  through  his  relations  with  society.  On  the  contrary, 
these  relations  during  the  most  exposed  period  of  his  youth 
were  tempting  him  in  exactly  the  opposite  direction,  and  thus 
rendering  his  position  dangerous  to  his  character.  He  was 
handsome,  gay,  uncommonly  entertaining,  and  a  great  favorite 
wherever  he  went.  The  accident  to  his  sight  obviously  ex¬ 
cluded  him  from  the  professions  open  to  persons  of  his  own 
age  and  condition,  and  his  father’s  fortune,  if  not  great,  was 
at  least  such  as  to  relieve  the  son,  with  whose  misfortune  his 
whole  family  felt  the  tenderest  sympathy,  from  the  necessity  of 
devoting  himself  to  any  occupation  as  a  means  of  subsistence. 
A  life  of  dainty,  elegant  idleness  was,  therefore,  as  freely  open 
to  him  as  it  was  to  any  young  man  of  his  time ;  and  his  in¬ 
firmities  would  no  doubt  have  excused  him  before  his  friends 
and  the  world,  if  he  had  given  himself  up  to  it.  Has  personal 
relations,  in  fact,  no  less  than  his  keen  relish  of  social  enjoy¬ 
ments  and  M3  attractive  qualities  as  a  mere  man  of  society,  all 
Beemed  to  solicit  him  to  a  life  of  self-indulgence. 


134 


WILLIAM  IIICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


Bat  he  perceived  betimes  that  such  a  life  would  be  only 
one  long  mistake,  —  that  it  might  satisfy  the  years  of  youth, 
when  the  spirits  are  fresh,  and  the  pursuit  of  pleasure  has  been 
checked  neither  by  sorrow  nor  by  disappointment,  but  that  it 
must  leave  the  graver  period  of  manhood  without  its  appro¬ 
priate  interests,  and  old  age  without  its  appropriate  respect. 
“  It  is  of  little  moment,”  he  therefore  recorded,  for  his  own 
warning  and  government,  as  early  as  1822,  —  “it  is  of  little 
moment  whether  I  succeed  in  this  or  that  thing,  but  it  is  of 
great  moment  that  I  am  habitually  industrious.”  This  con¬ 
clusion  was  reached  by  him  three  years  before  he  began  his 
search  for  a  subject  to  which  lie  could  devote  serious  and  con¬ 
secutive  labor.  But  it  was  eight  years  after  the  occurrence 
of  the  accident  that  had  shut  him  out  from  the  field  of  adven¬ 
ture  in  which  most  of  those  who  had  been  his  companions  and 
friends  were  already  advancing  and  prosperous.1 

And  these  eight  years  had  been  full  of  silent,  earnest  teach¬ 
ings.  The  darkness  in  which  he  had  so  often  been  immured 
for  weeks  and  months  together  had  given  him  leisure  for 
thoughts  which  might  otherwise  never  have  come  to  him,  or 
which  would  have  come  with  much  less  power.  Notwith¬ 
standing  his  exuberant  spirits,  he  had  suffered  hours  of  ennui , 
which,  in  a  free  and  active  life,  and  amidst  the  pleasures  of 
society,  would  have  been  spared  to  him.  The  result,  there¬ 
fore,  to  which  he  was  brought  by  the  workings  of  his  own  mind, 
was,  that,  to  be  happy,  he  must  lead  a  life  of  continuous,  useful 
industry,  —  such  as  he  would  at  last  enjoy  if  it  were  faithfully 
persisted  in,  and  if  it  tended  to  the  benefit  of  others. 

We  have  seen  how  ingenious  he  was  in  inventing  for  him 
self  the  mechanical  contrivances  indispensable  to  the  labor  and 
study  on  which,  with  his  imperfect  sight,  he  so  much  depended. 
But  there  was  another  obstacle  in  his  way  of  a  different  sort, 
and  one  still  more  difficult  and  disagreeable  to  encounter.  He 
did  not  love  work.  He  could  do  it,  and  had  done  it  often,  but 

1  The  same  thought  is  often  repeated  in  his  Memoranda,  but  nowhere  in 
stronger  terms  than  in  a  paper  written  twenty-seven  years  later,  and  show¬ 
ing  that  he  adhered  to  his  conviction  on  the  subject  through  life.  “  I  am 
convinced,”  he  says,  “  that  whether  clairvoyant  or  stone-blind,  intellectual 
occupation  —  steady,  regular  literary  occupation  —  is  the  only  true  vocation 
for  me, —  indispensable  to  my  happiness.” 


INDUSTRY  ON  PRINCIPLE. 


135 


only  under  some  strong  stimulus.  He  had,  for  instance,  com¬ 
monly  learned  his  lessons  well  in  boyhood,  because  he  respected 
Dr.  Gardiner,  and  was  sure  to  be  punished,  if  he  had  neglected 
them.  At  college,  he  considered  a  certain  moderate  amount 
of  scholarship  necessary  to  the  character  of  a  gentleman,  and 
came  up  to  his  own  not  very  high  standard  with  a  good  degree 
of  alacrity.  And  he  had  always  desired  to  satisfy  and  gratify 
his  father,  whose  authority  he  felt  to  be  gentle  as  well  as  just, 
and  whose  wishes  were  almost  always  obeyed,  even  in  his 
earlier  and  more  thoughtless  years.  But  the  present  purpose 
of  his  life  demanded  a  different  foundation  from  all  this,  — 
one  much  deeper  and  much  more  solid.  He  was  now  to  be  a 
scholar,  and  to  work  not  only  faithfully,  but  gladly,  —  almost 
disinterestedly ;  for  without  such  work,  as  he  well  knew,  no 
permanent  and  worthy  result  could  be  obtained,  —  no  ultimate 
intellectual  success  achieved.  “  Be  occupied  always he  there¬ 
fore  recoi'ded  firmly  at  the  outset  of  his  new  life. 

But  his  nature  —  buoyant,  frolicsome,  and  simple-hearted  — 
and  his  temperament  —  strong,  active,  and  wilful  —  long  con¬ 
tended  against  his  wise  determination.  While  he  was  engaged 
with  his  French  and  Italian  studies,  he  did  not,  indeed,  find 
industry  difficult ;  for  such  studies  were  botli  pleasant  and  light. 
But  when  they  were  over,  and  he  was  persuaded  that  German 
was  inaccessible  to  him,  his  exertions  relaxed.  “  I  have  read 
with  no  method,  and  very  little  diligence  or  spirit,  for  three 
months,”  he  said  in  1824.  “  To  the  end  of  my  life,  I  trust, 
I  shall  be  more  avaricious  of  time,  and  never  put  up  with  a 
smaller  average  than  seven  hours  of  intellectual  occupation  per 
diem.  Less  than  that  cannot  discharge  my  duties  to  mankind, 
satisfy  my  own  feelings,  or  give  me  a  rank  in  the  community  of 
letters.”  But  a  few  months  afterwards  he  finds  it  needful  to 
adopt  new  resolutions  of  reform.  He  complains  bitterly  that  he 
“  really  works  less  than  an  hour  a  day,”  and  determines  that  it 
shall  at  any  rate  be  five  hours,  —  a  determination,  however, 
which  he  makes  only  to  be  mortified  again  and  again,  that  he 
can,  with  much  effort,  hardly  come  up  to  three  or  four.  And 
so  it  went  on  for  two  years  of  alternating  struggles  and  failures. 
Even  after  he  had  entered  on  the  composition  of'  the  “  Ferdi¬ 
nand  and  Isabella,”  it  was  not  much  better.  The  habit  of 


136 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


industry  indispensable  to  success  was  bard  to  be  acquired. 
Resolutions,  such  as  he  had  been  long  in  the  habit  of  making, 
but  which,  from  their  nature,  should  rather  have  been  called 
good  purposes,  would  not  do  it.  He  broke  them  continually. 
Some  other  expedient,  therefore,  —  one  more  absolute  and  of 
more  stringent  authority,  —  must  be  resorted  to,  or  he  must 
fail.2 

A  good  deal  annoyed  with  himself,  he  turned  to  what  had 
earlier  been  a  favorite  mode  of  compelling  himself  to  keep 
his  own  good  resolutions,  —  I  mean  a  system  of  pecuniary 
mulcts  and  penalties.  In  college,  he  began  this  practice,  which 
he  continued  through  his  whole  life,  by  punishing  himself 
with  a  moderate  fine,  to  be  paid,  after  certain  neglects  or 
offences,  to  some  charity.  But  this  had  not  quite  enough  of  the 
essential  character  of  punishment  in  it,  since  he  was  liberally 
supplied  with  money,  and  loved  to  give  it  away  almost  as  well 
as  his  mother  did.  He  therefore  adopted  another  mode,  that 
proved  a  little  more  effectual.  He  made  bets,  of  some  con¬ 
sequence,  with  such  of  his  college  friends  as  would  take  them, 
to  the  effect  that  he  would  avoid  or  would  do  certain  things, 
in  relation  to  which  he  was  sure  he  should  be  mortified  to  have 
them  know  he  had  failed.  But  it  was  a  whimsical  peculiarity 
of  these  bets,  to  be  on  such  subjects,  or  in  such  forms,  that 
commonly  nobody  but  himself  could  know  whether  he  had 
lost  or  won.  The  decision  was  left  to  his  own  honor.  It 
should  be  added,  therefore,  that,  as  such  bets  were  made  wholly 
for  his  own  improvement,  he  was  never  at  this  period  known 
to  exact  a  forfeit  when  his  adversary  had  lost.  He  considered 
his  success  as  his  true  winning,  and  had  no  wish  that  any¬ 
body  should  be  punished  for  it.  He  desired  only  to  punish 
himself,  and  therefore,  when  he  had  lost  was  sure  to  proclaim 
himself  the  loser  and  pay  the  bet.  When  he  had  won,  he  said 
nothing. 

It  was  to  this  last  form  of  stimulus  or  punishment,  there¬ 
fore,  that  he  resorted,  when  he  found  his  industry  in  relation 

2  There  is  ft  characteristic  allusion  to  this  frailty  in  his  notice  of  a  good 
resolution  which  he  made  at  the  end  of  one  of  his  memorandum-books,  ana 
to  which  he  refers  in  the  first  words  of  the  next:  “  I  ended  the  last  book  with 
a  good  resolution.  I  shall  never  be  too  old  to  make  them.  See  if  I  shall  ever 
be  old  enough  to  keep  them.” 


BOND  AND  PENALTIES. 


137 


to  tlio  composition  of  the  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella”  not  only 
flagging,  but  so  seriously  foiling  off  that  he  began  to  be  alarmed 
for  the  final  result.  In  September,  1828,  he  gave  a  bond  to 
Mr.  English,  then  acting  as  his  reader  and  secretary,  to  pay 
him  a  thousand  dollars,  if,  within  one  year  from  that  date,  he 
had  not  written  two  hundred  and  fifty  pages  of  his  history, 
“  the  object  being,”  as  he  said,  “  to  prevent  further  vacillation 
until  he  had  written  so  much  as  would  secure  his  interest  in 
going  through  with  it.”  He  did  not  incur  the  penalty,  and 
thirteen  years  afterwards  he  recorded  his  conviction  that  the 
arrangement  had  been  wise.  “I  judged  right,”  he  said,  “that 
when  I  had  made  so  large  an  investment  of  time  and  labor,  I 
should  not  flag  again.” 

But  Mi*.  English’s  account  of  the  affair  is  more  minute,  and 
is  not  a  little  curious  as  an  expression  of  Mr.  Prescott’s  char¬ 
acter. 

“  The  bond  or  agreement  made,”  he  writes  to  me,  “  bound  each  of  us 
to  take  from  the  other  the  amount  Mr.  Prescott  should  himself  decide  to 
be  won  on  certain  wagers  written  by  himself  and  sealed  up.  I  never  saw 
them,  and  do  not,  to  tliis  day,  know  the  subject  of  the  bets.  I  took 
liis  word  that  they  were  made  to  gratify  some  fancy  of  his  own,  and  that 
they  were  so  proportioned  that  the  odds  were  much  in  my  favor,  —  for 
instance,  that  he  risked  in  the  proportion  of  one  hundred  to  my  twenty. 
This  contract,  I  suppose,  continued  to  his  death ;  at  any  rate,  he  never 
notified  me  that  it  had  ceased.  lie  often  added  new  wagers,  or  in¬ 
creased  the  amount  of  the  old  oues,  as  we  have  written  our  signatures 
with  fresh  dates  over  and  over  again  on  the  bottom  and  margins  of  the 
sheets  at  numerous  times  since  1831, 3  down  to  within  a  few  years  of  his 
death.  He  would  bring  the  paper  to  my  office  so  folded  that  I  could  not 
read  what  was  written  in  it,  and,  with  a  smile,  ask  me  to  sign  again.  I 
always  did  so  at  his  request,  without  knowing  what  I  signed,  having  the 
most  implicit  confidence  that  it  was  only  a  harmless  affair,  and  leaving  it 
wholly  to  him  to  decide  whether  I  lost  or  won.  I  remember  his  paying 
me  two  winnings,  —  one,  several  years  ago,  of  twenty  or  thirty  dollars,  — 
the  other,  somewhere  about  ten  yearn  ago,  of  one  hundred.  He  afterwards 
called  on  me  to  pay  a  loss  of  twenty  or  thirty,  I  forget  which.  He  would 
come  into  my  office  with  a  smile,  lay  down  his  money,  and  say,  ‘  You  re¬ 
member  that  bond  1  you  have  won  that,  and  go  out  with  a  laugh.  On 
the  other  occasion,  *  You  have  lost  this  time,  and  must  pay  me  twenty  or 
thirty  dollars,’  whichever  it  was.  I  handed  him  the  money  without  re¬ 
mark.  He  laughed  and  said,  that,  on  the  whole,  I  was  in  pocket  so  far, 
but  he  could  not  tell  how  it  would  be  next  time,  and  went  out  without 
anything  more  said  on  either  side.” 


*  In  1831,  Mr.  English  ceased  to  act  as  Mr.  Prescott’s  secretary. 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT 


i  as 


Tltis  document  is  lost,  but  another,  not  unlike  it,  and,  what 
is  remarkable,  made  with  another  friend,  while  the  first  bond 
was  yet  in  full  force,  is  preserved,  and  is  very  minute  and 
stringent.  Both  prove  that  work  was  often  painfully  unwel¬ 
come  to  him,  even  when  he  had  been  long  accustomed  to  it, 
and  that  not  unfrequently,  in  order  to  rouse  himself  to  a  proper 
exertion  of  Ids  faculties,  he  was  willing  to  call  in  the  aid  of 
some  foreign,  direct  stimulus.  And  tlds  he  did  from  a  delib¬ 
erate  persuasion  that  it  was  a  duty  he  owed  to  himself,  to  em¬ 
ploy  the  talents  that  had  been  given  to  him  “  as  ever  in  the 
great  Taskmaster's  eye.”  His  literary  memoranda  afford  abun¬ 
dant  proof  of  this.  Indeed,  they  are  throughout  a  sort  of  mon¬ 
ument  of  it,  for  they  were  made  in  a  great  degree  to  record  his 
shortcomings,  and  to  stimulate  his  uncertain  industry.  They 
contain  many  scores  of  phrases,  like  these,  scattered  over  more 
tnan  twenty  years  of  the  most  active  and  important  part  of  his 
life. 

“  I  have  worked  lazily  enough,  latterly,  or,  rather,  have  been  too  lazy 
to  work  at  all.  —  Ended  the  old  year  [1834]  very  badly.  The  last  four 
weeks  absolute  annihilation.  — Another  three  months,  since  the  last  entry, 
and  three  months  of  dolce  Jar  nicnte.  Not  so  dolce  either.  Fortunately 
for  the  good  economy  and  progress  of  the  species,  activity  —  activity, 
mental  or  physical  —  is  indispeusable  to  happiness.” 

On  another  occasion,  after  enumerating  the  work  he  had 
done  during  the  preceding  six  months,  he  says  :  — 

“  There  is  the  sum  total  of  what  I  have  done  in  this  dizzy-paled.  winter, 
which  has  left  me  in  worse  health  and  spirits,  and  with  less  to  show  in 
any  other  way,  than  any  past  winter  for  ten  years,  —  nay,  twenty,  — 
vroh  pudor  !  ” 

And  again,  in  1845  :  — 

“I  find  it  as  hard  to  get  under  way  as  a  crazy  hulk  that  has  been 
naulcd  up  for  repairs.  But  I  will  mend,  and,  that  I  may  do  so,  will  make 
hebdomadal  entries  of  my  laziness.  I  think  I  can’t  stand  the  repetition 
of  such  records  long.” 

But  the  very  next  week,  in  reference  to  the  “  Conquest  of 
Peru,”  which  he  was  then  writing,  he  says  :  — 

“  Horresco  referens!  I  have  actually  done  nothing  since  last  entry. 

....  If  I  can  ouce  get  in  harness  and  at  work,  I  shall  do  well  enough. 
But  my  joints  are  stiff  I  think,  as  I  grow  old.  So,  to  give  myself  a  start, 
I  have  made  a  wager  with  Mr.  Otis,4  that  I  will  reel  off-  at  least  one  page 

4  Mr.  Edmund  B.  Otis,  who  was  then  acting  as  his  secretary. 


NOTES  FROM  BOOKS. 


139 


per  diem,  barring  certain  contingencies.  If  I  can’t  do  this,  it  must  be  a 
gone  case,  and  Pizarro  may  look  to  have  his  misdeeds  shown  up  by  a 
better  pen.” 

No  doubt,  in  these  passages  of  his  private  Memoranda,  and 
in  many  more,  both  earlier  and  later,  of  the  same  sort,  there  is 
high  coloring.  But  it  was  intentional.  The  main  object  of 
the  whole  record  for  nearly  forty  years  was  to  stimulate  his 
industry,  and  to  prevent  himself  from  relapsing  into  the  idle¬ 
ness,  or  into  the  light  and  pleasant  occupations,  that  constantly 
tempted  him  from  his  proper  studies.  As  he  intimates  in  the 
last  extract,  when  he  was  well  entered  on  a  subject  and  the  im¬ 
petus  was  obtained,  he  generally  enjoyed  his  work,  and  felt  the 
happiness  and  peace  of  conscience  which  he  knew  he  could  get 
in  no  other  way.  But  the  difficulty  was,  to  obtain  the  impetus. 
After  finishing  one  work,  he  did  not  like  to  begin  another,  and, 
even  when  he  had  completed  a  single  chapter,  he  was  often 
unwilling  to  take  up  the  next.  When  he  moved  from  the  town 
to  the  country,  or  from  the  country  to  the  town,  he  did  not 
naturally  or  easily  fall  into  his  usual  train  of  occupations.  In 
short,  whenever  there  was  a  pause,  he  wanted  to  turn  aside 
into  some  other  path,  rather  than  to  continue  in  the  difficult 
one  right  before  him  ;  but  he  very  rarely  went  far  astray,  be¬ 
fore  he  had  the  courage  to  punish  himself  and  come  back. 

But,  besides  being  intended  for  a  rebuke  to  the  idle  and 
light-hearted  tendencies  of  his  nature,  his  Memoranda  were 
designed  to  record  the  various  experiments  he  made  to  over¬ 
come  the  peculiar  difficulties  in  his  way,  and  thus  assist  him  to 
encounter  others  more  successfully.  Some  of  these  bear  the 
same  marks  of  ingenuity  and  adaptation  which  characterized 
his  mechanical  contrivances  for  sparing  his  sight,  and  were  near 
akin  to  them. 

The  notes  that  were  taken  from  the  books  read  to  him,  or 
which  he  was  able  to  read  himself,  were  made  with  very  great 
care.  They  varied  in  their  character  at  different  periods,  going 
more  into  detail  at  first  than  they  did  later.  But  they  were 
always  ample,  abundant.  I  have  now  before  me  above  a  thou¬ 
sand  pages  of  them,  which  yet  cover  only  a  small  portion  of 
the  ground  of  “Ferdinand  and  Isabella.”  From  these,  and 
similar  masses  of  manuscript,  were  selected,  when  they  were 


140 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


wanted,  such  materials  and  hints  as  would  suit  the  purpose  of 
any  given  chapter  or  division  of  the  work  that  might  be  in 
hand,  and  these  again  were  transcribed  by  themselves,  in  a 
very  plain  hand,  for  use.  If  his  eye  served  him  tolerably  well, 
he  read  such  of  these  selected  notes  as  were  most  important, 
with  great  care,  repeatedly,  until  he  felt  himself  to  be  absolute 
master  of  their  contents.  If  they  were  not  so  important,  they 
were  read  to  him,  rarely  less  than  six  times,  —  generally 
more,  —  “  some,”  he  says,  “  a  dozen  times,”  —  so  that  he  might 
not  only  comprehend  their  general  scope,  but  be  able  to  judge 
of  any  varieties  involved  in  their  separate  statements,  whether 
of  opinion  or  of  fact. 

When  he  had  thus  collected  all  needful  materials,  he  began 
the  task  of  composition  in  his  memory,  —  very  difficult,  from 
the  detail  into  which  it  was  necessarily  carried,  and  from 
the  exactness  that  was  to  be  observed  in  each  step  as  he 
advanced.  Of  its  value  and  importance  he  was  early  aware, 
and,  as  he  gradually  surmounted  the  peculiar  embarrassments 
it  presented,  he  relied  on  it  more  and  more  exclusively,  until 
at  last  he  attained  an  extraordinary  power  in  its  use  and  ap¬ 
plication. 

In  1824,  he  said,  that,  before  composing  anything,  he  found 
it  necessary  “  to  ripen  the  subject  by  much  reflection  in  his 
mind.”  This,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  when  he  had  not 
even  begun  his  preliminary  Spanish  studies,  and  had,  in  fact, 
hazarded  nothing  more  serious  than  an  article  for  the  “  North- 
American  Review.”  But,  as  soon  as  he  had  entered  on  the 
composition  of  the  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  he  felt  fully  its 
great  importance  and  wide  consequences.  Within  a  fortnight, 
he  recorded:  “Never  take  up  my  pen,  until  I  have  travelled 
over  the  subject  so  often,  that  I  can  write  almost  from  memory.” 
It  was  really  desirable  to  write,  not  almost,  but  altogether, 
from  memory.  He  labored,  therefore,  long  for  it,  and  suc¬ 
ceeded,  by  great  and  continuous  efforts,  in  obtaining  the  much- 
coveted  power.  “  Think  concentratedlv,”  he  says,  “  when  I 
think  at  all.”  And  again,  “  Think  closely,  gradually  concen¬ 
trating  the  circle  of  thought.”  6  At  last,  in  1841,  when  he  was 

6  Again,  November  10,  1839,  he  records:  “  Think  continuously  and  closely 
before  taking  up  my  pen;  make  the  corrections  chiefly  in  my  own  rcivd ;  not 


COMPOSITION  IN  HIS  MEMORY. 


141 


employed  on  the  “  Mexico,”  he  records,  after  many  previous 
memoranda  on  the  subject :  “  My  way  has  lately  been  to  go 
over  a  large  mass,  —  over  and  over,  till  ready  to  throw  it  on 
paper.”  And  the  next  year,  1842,  he  says :  “  Concentrate 
more  resolutely  my  thoughts  the  first  day  of  meditation,  —  going 
over  and  over,  —  thinking  once  before  going  to  bed,  or  in  bed, 
or  before  rising,  —  prefer  the  latter.  And  after  one  day  of 
chewing  the  cud  should  be  [i.  e.  ought  to  be]  ready  to  write. 
Tt  was  three  days  for  this  chapter.”  —  [“  Conquest  of  Mexico,” 
Book  V.,  Chapter  II.]  Sometimes  it  was  longer,  but,  in  gen¬ 
eral,  a  single  whole  day,  or  two  or  three  evenings,  with  the 
hours  of  his  exercise  in  riding  or  walking,  were  found  to  be 
sufficient  for  such  careful  meditation.6 

The  result  was  remarkable  —  almost  incredible  —  as  to  the 
masses  he  could  thus  hold  in  a  sort  of  abeyance  in  his  mind, 
and  as  to  the  length  of  time  he  could  keep  them  there,  and 
consider  and  reconsider  them  without  confusion  or  weariness. 
Thus,  he  says  that  he  carried  in  his  memory  the  first  and 
second  chapters  of  the  fifth  book  of  the  “  Conquest  of  Peru,” 
and  ran  over  the  whole  ground  several  times  before  beginning 
to  write,  although  these  two  chapters  fill  fifty-six  pages  of  printed 
text ;  and  he  records  the  same  thing  of  chapters  fifth,  sixth, 
and  seventh,  in  the  second  book  of  “  Philip  the  Second,”  which 

attempt  to  overlook  my  noctographs;  very  trying  to  the  eye.  If  I  would 
enjoy  composition,  write  well,  and  make  progress,  I  must  give  my  whole  soul 
to  it,  so  as  not  to  know  the  presence  of  another  in  the  room;  going  over 
the  work  again  and  again  (not  too  fastidious,  nor  formal);  thinking  when 
walking  and  dressing,  &c. ;  and  not  too  scrupulous,  hesitating,  in  my  final 
corrections.  It  is  a  shame  and  a  sin  to  waste  time  on  mere  form.  Have 
been  very  contented  and  happy  here  [Pepperell] ;  fine  weather,  and  pleasing 
occupation.” 

6  In  preparing  Chapter  III.,  of  the  Introduction  to  the  “  Conquest  of 
Peru,”  —  about  thirty  printed  pages, — he  records  that,  after  having  done 
all  the  necessary  reading,  he  studied  five  days  on  the  memoranda  he  had 
made,  reflected  on  them  one  day  more,  and  then  gave  four  days  to  writing 
the  text,  and  five  to  writing  the  notes.  Gibbon,  too,  used  to  compose  in  his 
mind;  but  it  was  in  a  very  different  way,  and  with  very  different  results. 
He  prepared  only  a  paragraph  at  a  time,  and  that  he  did,  as  he  says,  in  order 
“  to  try  it  by  the  ear.”  (Misc.  Works,  1814,  Vol.  I.  p.  230.)  I  think  the  effect 
of  this  loud  recital  of  his  work  to  himself  is  plain  in  the  well-known  cadence 
of  his  sentences.  Mr.  Prescott  never,  so  far  I  as  know,  repeated  his  chapters 
aloud.  His  mental  repetition  was  generally  done  when  he  was  riding,  or 
walking,  or  driving. 


142 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


make  together  seventy-two  pages,  and  on  which  he  was  em« 
ployed  sixty-two  days.7 

He  frequently  kept  about  sixty  pages  in  his  memory  for 
several  days,  and  went  over  the  whole  mass  five  or  six  times, 
moulding  and  remoulding  the  sentences  at  each  successive 
return.  But  this  power  did  not  remain  in  full  vigor  to  the 
last.  When  he  was  writing  the  third  volume  of  “  Philip  the 
Second,”  he  found  that  he  could  not  carry  more  than  about 
forty  pages  in  his  mind  at  once,  and  spoke  to  me  of  it  as  a  sad 
failure  of  memory,  which  no  doubt,  it  was  in  one  point  of 
view,  although  in  another,  it  can  be  regarded  only  as  an  ex¬ 
pression  of  the  surprising  power  at  one  time  reached  by  a 
faculty  which  in  its  decline  was  still  so  marvellous.  But, 
whatever  might  be  the  amount  that  he  had  thus  prepared  in  his 
mind,  he  went  over  it  five  or  six  times,  as  a  general  rule, — 
sometimes  more,  —  and  once,  at  least,  he  did  it,  for  a  single 
chapter,  sixteen  times,  —  an  instance  of  patient,  untiring  labor 
for  which  it  will  not  be  easy  to  find  a  parallel.8 

Writing  down  by  the  help  of  his  apparatus  what  had  been 
so  carefully  prepared  in  his  memory  was  a  rapid  and  not  dis 
agreeable  operation,  especially  in  the  composition  of  his  “  Com 
quest  of  Mexico,”  and  of  his  later  works,  when  the  habit  of 
doing  it  had  become  fixed  and  comparatively  easy.  As  the 
sheets  were  thrown  olf,  the  secretary  deciphered  and  copied 


7  His  words  are:  “The  batch —  all  run  over  in  my  mind  several  times, 
from  beginning  to  end,  before  writing  a  word — has  been  got  out,  reading, 
thinking,  and  writing,  in  sixty-two  days.” 

8  Dionvsius  of  Halicarnassus  (De  Compositione  Verborum,  Ed.  Schaefer, 
1S08,  p.  406)  says,  that  Plato  continued  to  correct  and  polish  the  style  of  his 
Dialogues  when  he  was  eighty  years  old.  'O  fie  IlXaroon  tovs  invroii 
fiiaXoyovr  Krevifav  teal  fiocrTpvxifav  Kal  iravra  rponov  avan\eKU>v  ov 
fite'Xi7rev  oyfi orjKoura  ye yor.br  errj.  See,  also,  the  well-considered  remarks 
on  a  careful  revision  of  style  by  good  writers  of  all  ages,  in  the  twenty-first 
of  Mr.  George  P.  Marsh’s  Lectures  on  the  English  Language  (New  York, 

I860), _ a  book  full  of  rich,  original  thought  and  painstaking,  conscientious 

investigation.  “  Literary  Biography,”  he  says,  “  furnishes  the  most  abundant 
proofs,  that,  in  all  ages,  the  works  which  stand  as  types  of  language  and  com¬ 
position  have  been  of  slow  and  laborious  production,  and  have  undergone  the 
most  careful  and  repeated  revision  and  emendation.”  This,  I  have  no  doubt, 
is  what  Dionysius  meant,  when  he  said  that  Plato  did  not  cease  to  comb  and 
curl  and  braid  the  locks  of  his  Dialogues,  even  when  he  w:is  eighty  years 
old, --an  odd  figure  of  speech,  but  a  very  significant  one. 


REVISION  OF  HIS  WRITINGS. 


143 


them  in  a  large  round  hand,  —  and  then  they  were  laid  aside, 
generally  for  some  months,  or  even  longer,  that  the  subject 
might  cool  in  the  author’s  mind,  and  the  imperfections  of  its 
treatment  become,  in  consequence,  more  readily  apparent  to 
him.  At  the  end  of  this  period,  or  whenever  the  time  for  a 
final  revision  had  come,  he  chose  the  hours  or  the  minutes  in 
each  day  —  tor  they  were  often  only  minutes  —  when  his  eye 
would  permit  him  to  read  the  manuscript  himself,  and  then  he 
went  over  it  with  extreme  care.  This  he  held  to  be  an  impor¬ 
tant  process,  and  never,  I  think,  trusted  it  wholly  to  the  ear. 
Certainly  he  never  did  so,  if  he  could  possibly  avoid  it.  He 
believed  that  what  was  to  be  read  by  the  eye  of  another 
should  be,  at  least  once,  severely  revised  by  the  eye  of  its 
author. 

As  the  proof-sheets  came  from  the  press,  his  friend  Mr.  Fol¬ 
som  corrected  them,  suggesting,  at  the  same  time,  any  emenda¬ 
tions  or  improvements  in  the  style  that  might  occur  to  him, 
with  the  freedom  of  an  old  friendship,  as  well  as  with  the  skill 
and  taste  of  a  well-practised  criticism ;  and  then  the  author 
having  himself  passed  judgment  upon  the  suggestions  thus 
offered  to  him,  and  having  taken  such  as  he  approved,  —  rarely 
more  than  one  third,  or  even  one  fifth,  —  the  whole  was  de¬ 
livered  to  the  unchanging  stereotype.9 

This  process,  from  the  first  breaking  ground  with  inquiries 
into  the  subject  to  the  final  yielding  of  the  completed  work  to 
the  press,  was,  no  doubt,  very  elaborate  and  painstaking ;  but 
it  seems  to  me  that  it  was  singularly  adapted  to  the  peculiar 
difficulties  and  embarrassments  of  Mr.  Prescott’s  case,  and  I  do 
not  suppose  that  in  any  other  way  he  could  have  accomplished 
so  much,  or  have  done  it  so  well.  But,  whether  this  were  so 

9  Mr.  Folaom  —  who  had  known  him  from  the  period  of  his  college  life  — 
made  before  the  American  Academy,  soon  after  his  friend’s  death,  some  very 
graceful  and  appropriote  remarks  on  his  modes  of  composition,  with  which 
his  “  Cambridge  Aldus,"  as  Prescott  was  wont  to  call  Mr.  Folsom,  was  espe¬ 
cially  familiar.  On  the  same  occasion,  other  more  general,  but  not  less  in¬ 
teresting,  remarks  on  his  life  and  character  were  made  by  the  Rev.  Dr. 
George  E.  Ellis  of  Charlestown,  the  Hon.  Charles  G.  Loring  of  Boston,  and 
Professor  Theophilus  Parsons  of  Harvard  College,  —  the  last  two,  like  Mr. 
Folsom,  members  of  the  Club  to  which  Mr.  Prescott  so  many  years  belonged. 
—  See  the  “  Proceedings  of  the  American  Academy  of  Arts  and  Sciences,” 
Vol.  IV.  pp.  149-1G3. 


.44 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


or  not,  the  great  labor  it  implied,  added  to  the  unceasing  care 
he  was  compelled  to  practise  for  forty  years,  in  order  to  pro¬ 
tect  his  health,  and  preserve  and  prolong  the  failing  powers  of 
the  single  eye  that  remained  to  him,  so  as  to  enable  him  to 
pursue  the  minute  historical  investigations  which  seemed  to  be 
forbidden  by  the  conditions  of  his  life,  is  a  very  extraordinary 
spectacle.  It  is,  no  less,  one  full  of  instruction  to  those  who 
think  that  a  life  without  serious  occupation  can  be  justified 
either  by  the  obstacles  or  the  temptations  it  may  be  called  to 
encounter. 

But  there  is  another  side  of  his  character,  which  should  Dot 
be  left  out  of  view,  and  yet  one  which  I  cannot  approach  ex¬ 
cept  with  misgiving;  I  mean  that  which  involves  the  moral 
and  religious  elements  of  his  nature.  Of  these,  so  far  as  a 
belief  in  Christianity  is  concerned,  and  a  conscientious  and 
repeated  examination  of  its  authority  as  a  revelation,  I  have 
already  spoken.  His  life,  too,  devoted  to  hard  labor,  —  often 
physically  painful,  —  with  the  prevalent  idea  not  only  of  cul¬ 
tivating  his  own  faculties,  and  promoting  his  own  improve¬ 
ment,  but  of  fulfilling  his  duties  towards  his  fellow-men,  was 
necessarily  one  of  constant  careful  discipline,  but  behind  all 
this,  and  deeper  than  all  this,  lay,  as  its  foundation,  his  watch¬ 
fulness  over  his  moral  and  religious  character,  its  weaknesses 
and  its  temptations. 

With  these  he  dealt,  to  a  remarkable  degree,  in  the  same 
way,  and  on  the  same  system,  which  he  applied  to  his  physical 
health  and  his  intellectual  culture.  He  made  a  record  of 
everything  that  was  amiss,  and  examined  and  considered  and 
studied  that  record  constantly  and  conscientiously.  It  was 
written  on  separate  slips  of  paper,  —  done  always  with  his  own 
hand,  —  seen  only  by  his  own  eye.  These  slips  he  preserved 
in  a  large  envelope,  and  kept  them  in  the  most  reserved  and 
private  manner.  From  time  to  time,  when  his  sight  permitted, 
—  and  generally  on  Sunday,  after  returning  from  the  morning 
service,  —  he  took  them  out  and  looked  them  over,  one  by  one. 
If  any  habitual  fault  were,  as  he  thought,  eradicated,  he 
destroyed  the  record  of  it ;  if  a  new  one  had  appeared,  he 
entered  it  on  its  separate  slip,  and  placed  it  with  the  rest  for 
future  warning  and  reproof.  This  habit,  known  only  to  the 


RECORD  OF  FAULTS. 


145 


innermost  circle  of  those  who  lived  around  his  heart,  was  per¬ 
severed  in  to  the  last.  After  his  death  the  envelope  was  found, 
marked,  as  it  was  known  that  it  would  be,  “  To  be  burnt.” 
And  it  was  burnt.  No  record,  therefore,  remains  on  earth  of 
this  remarkable  self-discipline.  But  it  remains  in  the  memory 
of  his  beautiful  and  pore  life,  and  in  the  books  that  shall  be 
opened  at  the  great  day,  when  the  thoughts  of  all  hearts  shall 
be  made  manifest. 

Probably  to  those  who  knew  my  friend  only  as  men  com¬ 
monly  know  one  another  in  society,  and  even  to  the  many 
who  knew  him  familiarly,  these  accounts  of  his  private  habits 
and  careful  self-discipline  may  be  unexpected,  and  may  seem 
strange.  But  they  are  true.  The  foundations  of  his  character 
were  laid  as  deep  as  I  have  described  them,  —  the  vigilance 
over  his  own  conduct  was  as  strict.  But  he  always  desired  to 
have  as  little  of  this  seen  as  possible.  He  detested  all  pretence 
and  cant.  lie  made  no  presumptuous  claims  to  the  virtues 
which  everybody,  who  knew  him  at  all,  knew  he  possessed. 
He  did  not,  for  instance,  like  to  say  that  he  acted  in  any 
individual  case  from  “  a  sense  of  duty.”  He  avoided  that  par¬ 
ticular  phrase,  as  he  more  than  once  told  me  he  did,  and  as  I 
know  his  father  had  done  before  him,  because  it  is  so  often 
used  to  hide  mean  or  unworthy  motives.  I  am  pretty  sure 
that  I  never  heard  him  use  it ;  and  on  one  occasion,  when  a 
person  for  whom  he  had  much  regard  was  urging  him  to  do 
something  which,  after  all,  could  only  end  in  social  pleasures 
for  both  of  them,  and  added  as  an  ultimate  argument,  “  But 
can’t  you  make  a  duty  of  it  ?  ”  —  he  repeated  the  words  to  me 
afterwards  with  the  heartiest  disgust.  But,  during  his  riper 
years,  nobody,  I  think,  ever  saw  anything  in  him  which  con¬ 
tradicted  the  idea  that  he  was  governed  by  high  motives.  It 
was  only  that  he  was  instinctively  unwilling  to  parade  them, 
—  that  he  was  remarkably  free  from  anything  like  pretension. 

He  carried  this  very  far.  To  take  a  strong  example,  few 
persons  suspected  him  of  literary  industry  till  all  the  world 
knew  what  lie  had  done.  Not  half  a  dozen,  I  think,  out  of  his 
own  family,  were  aware,  during  the  whole  period  in  which  he 
was  employed  on  his  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  that  he  was 
occupied  with  any  considerable  literary  undertaking,  and  hardly 


1 16 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


anybody  knew  wbat  it  was.  Most  of  his  friends  thought  that 
he  led  rather  an  idle,  unprofitable  life,  but  attributed  it  to  his 
infirmity,  and  pardoned  or  overlooked  it  as  a  misfortune,  rather 
than  as  anything  discreditable.  On  one  occasion  a  near  con¬ 
nection,  whom  he  was  in  the  habit  of  meeting  in  the  most 
familiar  and  pleasant  manner  at  least  once  a  week,  affection¬ 
ately  urged  him  to  undertake  some  serious  occupation  as  a 
thing  essential  to  his  happiness,  and  even  to  his  respectable 
position  in  society.  And  yet,  at  that  moment,  he  had  been 
eight  years  laboring  on  his  first  great  work  ;  and,  though  thus 
pressed  and  tempted,  he  did  not  confess  how  he  was  em¬ 
ployed.10 

He  was  sensitive  from  his  very  nature  as  well  as  from  the 
infirmities  that  beset  him  ;  and  this  sensitiveness  of  tempera¬ 
ment  made  it  more  than  commonly  disagreeable  to  him  to 
have  his  exact  habits  interfered  with  or  intruded  upon.  But 
he  did  not  willingly  permit  his  annoyance  to  be  seen,  and  few 
ever  suspected  that  he  felt  it.  When  he  was  riding  or  taking 
his  long  walks,  he  was,  as  we  have  seen,  in  the  habit  of  going 
over  and  over  again  in  his  memory  whatever  he  might  last 
have  composed,  and  thus  correcting  and  finishing  liis  work  in  a 
way  peculiarly  agreeable  to  himself.  Of  course,  under  such 
circumstances,  any  interruption  to  the  current  of  his  thoughts 
was  unwelcome.  And  yet  who  of  the  hundreds  that  stopped 
him  in  his  daily  walks,  or  joined  him  on  horseback,  eager  for 
his  kindly  greeting  or  animated  conversation,  was  ever  received 
with  any  other  than  a  pleasant  welcome  ?  During  one  winter, 
I  know  that  the  same  friend  overtook  him  so  often  in  his 
morning  ride,  that  he  gave  up  his  favorite  road  to  avoid  a 
kindness  which  he  was  not  willing  to  seem  to  decline.  His 

10  As  early  as  1821,  lie  showed  signs  of  this  sensitiveness,  which  so  remark¬ 
ably  characterized  all  his  literary  labors.  After  indicating  two  or  three  per¬ 
sons,  one  of  whom  he  might  consult  when  he  should  be  writing  a  review  for 
the  “  North  American,”  he  adds :  *‘  Nor  shall  any  one  else,  if  I  can  help  it, 
know  that  I  am  writing.”  This  occasional  reticence  —  so  complete,  so  abso¬ 
lute,  as  it  was  in  the  case  of  the  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella”  —  is  a  remark¬ 
able  trait  iu  the  character  of  one  who  was  commonly  open-hearted  almost  to 
weakness.  1  do  not  believe  that  three  persons  out  of  his  own  home  knew 
that  he  was  writing  that  work  until  it  was  nearly  completed.  Indeed,  I  am 
not  aware  that  anybody  knew  it  for  several  years  except  myself,  his  family 
and  those  who  helped  him  abroad  in  collecting  materials. 


SENSITIVENESS. 


147 


father  and  he  understood  one  another  completely  on  this  point. 
They  often  mounted  at  the  same  time,  but  always  turned  their 
horses  in  different  directions. 

Nor  was  there  in  his  intercourse  at  home  or  abroad  —  with 
strangers  or  with  his  familiar  friends  —  any  noticeable  trace  of 
the  strict  government  to  which  he  subjected  his  time  and  his 
character.  In  his  study  everything  went  on  by  rule.  His 
table  and  his  papers  were  always  in  the  nicest  order.  His 
chair  stood  always  in  the  same  spot,  and  —  what  was  important 
—  in  the  same  relations  to  the  light.  The  furniture  of  the 
room  was  always  arranged  in  the  same  manner.  The  hours, 
and  often  even  the  minutes,  were  counted  and  appropriated. 
But  when  he  came  out  from  his  work  and  joined  his  family, 
the  change  was  complete,  —  the  relaxation  absolute.  Espe 
daily  in  the  latter  part  of  Iris  life,  and  in  the  cheerful  parlor  of 
the  old  homestead  at  Pepperell,  surrounded  by  his  children  and 
their  young  friends,  his  gay  spirits  were  counted  upon  by  all  as 
an  unfailing  resource.  The  evening  games  could  not  be  begun, 
the  entertaining  book  could  not  be  opened,  until  he  had  come 
from  his  work,  and  taken  his  accustomed  place  in  the  circle 
which  his  presence  always  made  bright. 

In  society  it  was  the  same.  He  was  never  otherwise  than 
easy  and  unconstrained.  It  would  have  been  difficult  to  find 
him  in  a  company  of  persons  where  any  one  was  more  attrac¬ 
tive  than  he  was.  But  he  never  seemed  to  be  aware  of  it,  or 
to  make  an  effort  to  distinguish  himself.  The  brilliant  things 
he  sometimes  said  were  almost  always  in  the  nature  of  repartees, 
and  depended  so  much  for  their  effect  on  what  had  gone  be¬ 
fore  that  those  who  saw  him  oftenest  and  knew  him  best  re¬ 
member  little  of  his  conversation,  except  that  it  was  always 
agreeable,  —  often  full  of  drollery,  —  occasionally  sparkling. 
But  it  was  one  of  its  peculiarities,  that  it  became  sometimes 
amusing  from  its  carelessness,  —  running  into  blunders  and  in¬ 
consequences,  not  unlike  Irish  bulls,  which  nobody  seemed  to 
enjoy  so  heartily  as  he  did,  or  to  expose  with  such  happy 
gayety.  Eminently  natural  he  always  was,  —  everybody  saw 
it  who  met  him,  —  and  in  this  quality  resided,  no  doubt, 
much  of  the  charm  of  his  personal  intercourse. 

But  it  was  certainly  remarkable  that  one  who  lived  so  many 


148 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PKESCOTT. 


hoars  of  each  day  by  such  rigorous  rules,  and  who  subjected 
himself  constantly  to  a  discipline,  physical,  intellectual,  and 
moral,  so  exact,  should  yet  have  been  thus  easy,  unconstrained, 
and  even  careless  in  all  societies,  at  home  and  abroad,  —  with 
his  children  hardly  more  than  with  persons  whom  he  saw  for 
the  first  time.  Such  apparent  contradictions  —  such  a  union 
of  qualities  and  characteristics  which  nature  commonly  holds 
carefully  asunder  —  were  not  always  intelligible  to  those  who 
occasionally  caught  glimpses  of  them,  without  being  constantly 
near  enough  to  see  how  they  were  produced,  or  how  they  acted 
upon  each  other.  It  was  a  combination  which  could,  I  con¬ 
ceive,  have  been  originally  found  or  formed  in  no  nature  that 
had  not  that  essential  goodness  and  sweetness  for  which  the 
best  training  is  but  a  poor  substitute ;  and  they  could  have  been 
brought  into  such  intimate  union  by  no  solvent  less  active  than 
his  charming  spirits,  which  seemed  to  shed  brightness  over  his 
whole  character.  His  sunny  smile  was  absolutely  contagious, 
—  his  cordial,  easy  manners  were  irresistible.  All  who  ap¬ 
proached  him  felt  and  acknowledged  their  influence,  and  few 
thought  of  what  might  lie  beneath  them. 

One  trait  of  his  character,  however,  which,  from  its  nature, 
was  less  obvious  than  the  traits  expressed  by  his  general  man¬ 
ners,  should  be  especially  noticed,  —  I  mean  his  charity  to  the 
poor.  His  liberality  in  contributing  to  whatever  would  im¬ 
prove  and  benefit  the  community  was  necessarily  known  of 
many.  IsTot  so  his  private  generosity.  This  he  had,  as  it 
were,  inherited.  His  mother's  greatest  happiness,  beyond  the 
circle  of  her  family,  was  found  in  a  free-handed  beneficence. 
In  the  latter  part  of  her  life,  when  her  resources  were  much 
beyond  the  claims  that  could  be  made  on  them  by  children 
already  independent,  she  avoided  all  personal  expense,  and  gave 
more  than  half  her  income  to  the  poor.  Her  son  fully  shared 
her  spirit.  While  she  lived,  he  co-operated  with  her,  and,  after 
her  death,  her  pensioners  were  not  permitted,  so  far  as  money 
could  do  it,  to  feel  their  loss. 

But,  from  his  earliest  manhood,  he  was  always  free  and 
liberal  In  many  years  he  gave  away  more  than  he  intended 
to  do,  and  more  than  he  afterwards  thought  he  ought  to  have 
done.  But  this  did  not  prevent  him  from  repeating  the  mis- 


CHARITY  TO  THE  POOR. 


149 


take  or  the  miscalculation.  Indeed,  though  he  was  considerate 
and  careful,  as  well  as  liberal,  in  his  contributions  to  public  in¬ 
stitutions,  he  was  very  impulsive  in  his  private  charities.  An 
instance  happily  recorded  by  Mr.  Robert  Carter,  who  was  his 
secretary  for  about  a  year,  in  1847  -  1848,  will  better  explain 
this  part  of  his  character  than  a  page  of  generalities. 

“  One  bitter  cold  day,”  he  says,  “  I  came  to  the  study  as  usual  at  half 
past  ten.  Mr.  Prescott  went  to  work  immediately  on  two  long  and  impor 
tant  letters,  one  to  Senor  de  Gayangos  at  Madrid,  the  other  to  Count  Cir- 
court  at  Paris,  which  he  was  very  anxious  to  have  finished  in  season  to  go 
by  that  week’s  mail  to  Europe.  There  was  barely  sufficient  time  to  get 
them  ready  before  the  mail  closed.  They  were  about  half  done  when 
twelve  o’clock,  his  hour  for  exercise,  arrived.  He  was  so  anxious  to  get 
them  off-  that  he  did  what  I  had  never  known  him  to  do  before  ;  he  relin¬ 
quished  his  walk,  and  kept  at  his  writing-case,  telling  me  to  go  out  and 
stretch  my  legs,  but  to  be  sure  and  return  at  one  o’clock,  when  he  would 
have  the  letters  ready  to  be  copied.  I  offered  to  remain  and  copy  as  he 
wrote,  but  he  said  there  would  be  time  enough  if  I  came  back  at  one 
o’clock.  He  never  would  allow  me  to  work  tor  him  beyond  the  hours 
stipulated  in  our  agreement,  and  was  very  careful  not  to  encroach  upon 
my  time,  even  for  a  minute,  though  he  often  made  me  take  holidays.  I 
strolled  about  the  city  for  half  an  hour,  and  on  my  way  back  passing 
through  Broad  Street,  where  the  Irish  congregate,  met  one  Michael  Sulli 
van,  whom  I  knew.  He  seemed  to  be  in  trouble,  and  I  inquired  what 
ailed  him.  He  said  he  had  been  sick  and  out  of  work,  and  had  no  money, 
and  his  family  were  starving  with  cold.  I  went  with  him  to  the  den 
where  he  lived,  and  found  his  wife  and  three  or  four  small  children  in  s# 
wretched  loft  over  a  warehouse,  where  they  were  lying  on  the  floor  huddled 
in  a  pile  of  straw  and  shavings,  with  some  rags  and  pieces  of  old  caipet 
over  them.  The  only  furniture  in  the  room  was  a  chair,  a  broken  table, 
and  a  small  stove,  in  which  were  the  expiring  embers  of  a  scanty  handful 
of  coal,  which  they  had  begged  from  neighbors  equally  poor.  The  mer¬ 
cury  was  below  zero  out  of  doors,  and  the  dilapidated  apartment  was  not 
much  warmer  than  the  street.  I  had  no  time  to  spare,  and  the  detention, 
slight  as  it  was,  prevented  me  from  getting  back  to  Mr.  Prescott’s  till  a 
quarter  past  one.  His  manuscript  lay  on  my  desk,  and  he  was  walking 
about  the  room  in  a  state  of  impatience,  I  knew,  though  he  showed  none, 
except  by  looking  at  his  watch.  As  I  warmed  my  chilled  hands  over  the 
fire,  I  told  him,  by  way  of  apology,  what  had  detained  me.  Without 
speaking,  he  stepped  to  a  drawer  where  scraps  of  writing  paper  were  kept, 
took  out  a  piece,  and,  laying  it  on  my  desk,  told  me  to  write  an  order  on 

Mr. - (a  coal  dealer  with  whom  he  kept  an  account  always  open  for 

such  purposes)  for  a  ton  of  coal,  to  be  delivered  without  delay  to  Michael 
Sullivan,  Broad  Street.  He  then  went  to  his  bell-rope,  and  gave  it  a  vehe¬ 
ment  pull.  A  servant  entered  as  I  finished  the  order.  ‘  Take  this,’  he 

said,  ‘  as  quick  as  you  can  to  Mr. - ,  and  see  that  the  coal  is  delivered 

at  once.  What  is  the  number  of  the  house  in  Broad  Street  ?  ’ 

“  I  had  neglected  to  notice  the  number,  though  I  could  find  the  place 


150 


WILLIAM  mCKLING  PRESCOTT. 


readily  myself.  I  therefore  suggested  to  Mr.  Prescott,  that,  os  there  were 
probably  twenty  Michael  Sullivans  in  Broad  Street,  the  coal  might  not  reach 
the  right  man,  unless  I  saw  to  it  in  person,  which  I  would  do  when  I 
went  to  dinner  at  half  past  two  o’clock. 

“  ‘  Thank  you  !  thank  you  !  ’  he  said  ;  ‘but  go  at  once,  there  will  be 
time  enough  lost  in  getting  the  coal.’ 

“  I  reminded  him  of  the  letters.  ‘  Go !  go  !  never  mind  the  letters. 
Gavangos  and  Circourt  will  not  freeze  if  they  never  get  them,  and  Mrs. 
O’Sullivan  may,  if  you  don’t  hurry.  Stay!  can  the  man  be  trusted  with 
money  ?  or  will  he  spend  it  all  for  drink  ?  ’  He  pulled  out  his  pocket- 
book.  I  told  him  he  could  be  trusted.  He  handed  me  five  dollars. 
‘  See  that  they  are  made  comfortable,  at  least  while  this  cold  spell  lasts. 
Take  time  enough  to  see  to  them ;  I  shall  not  want  you  till  six.  Don’t  let 
them  know  I  sent  the  money,  or  all  Broad  Street  will  be  here  begging 
within  twenty-four  hours.’ 

“  I  relieved  Mr.  O’Sullivan,  as  Mr.  Prescott  persisted  in  calling  him, 
and,  when  I  returned  at  six,  I  entered  in  the  account-book,  ‘  Charity  five 
dollars.’  ‘  Always  tell  me  when  you  know  of  such  cases,’  he  said, 
‘  and  I  shall  be  only  too  happy  to  do  something  for  them.  I  cannot 
go  about  myself  to  find  them  out,  but  I  shall  be  always  ready  to  con 
tribute.’ 

“  He  did  not  let  the  matter  rest  there,  but  kept  playfully  inquiring 
after  my  friends  Mr.  and  Mrs.  O’Sullivan,  until  I  satisfied  him  by  ascer¬ 
taining  that  he  had  found  employment,  and  could  provide  for  his  family. 
Alter  that  he  never  alluded  to  them  again.” 11 

u  From  the  New  York  “  Tribune,”  as  copied  into  the  “  Prescott  Memo¬ 
rial,”  New  York,  1859.  Sullivan  was,  no  doubt,  a  Catholic,  as  were  most 
of  the  poor  Irish,  who  then  herded  in  Broad  Street.  But  Prescott  cared 
uot  a  whit  what  was  the  religion  of  the  poor  he  helped.  It  was  enough  that 
they  were  suffering. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


1837. 


Period  immediately  after  the  Publication  of  “  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella.”  —  Thinks  of  writing  a  Life  of  MoliLre;  but  prefers 
Spanish  Subjects.  —  Reviews.  —  Inquires  again  into  the  Truth 
of  Christianity.  —  “  Conquest  of  Mexico.”  —  Books  and  Manu¬ 
scripts  OBTAINED  FOR  IT.  —  HUMBOLDT.  —  INDOLENCE.  —  CORRESPOND¬ 
ENCE  with  Washington  Irving. 


IHE  summer  of  1836,  when  the  composition  of  “  Ferdinand 


A  and  Isabella  ”  was  completed,  and  the  following  eighteen 
months,  during  which  it  was  carried  through  the  press  and  its 
Buccess  made  sure,  constituted  a  very  happy  period  in  Mr. 
Prescott’s  life.  The  inexperienced  author  speculated,  indeed, 
more  than  he  needed  to  have  done  on  the  risks  of  his  venture, 
and  felt  concerning  the  final  result  a  good  deal  of  nervous  curi¬ 
osity,  which,  if  it  did  not  amount  to  anxiety,  was  something 
very  near  to  it.  But  he  soon  began  to  consider  what  he  should 
do  when  the  holidays  in  which  he  was  indulging  himself  should 
come  to  an  end.  For  some  time  he  was  very  uncertain.  It 
was  his  way  in  such  cases  to  doubt  long. 

At  one  period,  he  determined,  if  the  “  Ferdinand  and  Isa¬ 
bella  should  be  coldly  received,  to  take  up  some  lighter  sub¬ 
ject,  for  winch,  with  all  his  distrust  of  himself,  he  could  not 
doubt  his  competency.  Several  subjects  came  readily  to  his 
thoughts,  but  none  tempted  him  so  much  as  Moliere,  on  whose 
character  and  works  he  had,  in  1828,  written  a  pleasant  article 
for  the  “  North  American  Review,”  —  the  “  Old  North,”  as  he 
used  to  call  it.  As  soon,  therefore,  as  he  had  corrected  the  last 
sheets  of  the  “  Catholic  Sovereigns,”  he  wrote  to  me  about  his 
new  project,  knowing  that  I  was  in  Paris,  where  I  might 
help  him  in  collecting  materials  for  it.  This  was  in  Septem¬ 
ber,  1837.1 

1  He  had,  somewhat  earlier,  a  considerable  fancy  for  literary  history,  of 
which  he  often  spoke  to  me.  When  he  was  half  through  the  composition  of 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


152 

It  was  not  difficult  to  do  all  he  desired.  I  advised  with 
M.  Jules  Taschereau,2  who,  besides  his  other  claims  on  the 
republic  of  letters,  had  then  recently  published  the  second 
edition  of  his  “  Life  of  Moliere,”  —  altogether  the  best  book 
on  its  subject,  though  with  an  air  of  greater  learning  than 
might  have  been  anticipated  from  the  brilliant  character  of 
the  genius  to  whom  it  is  devoted.  Having  made  sure  of  the 
assistance  of  M.  Taschereau,  I  at  once  undertook  the  com¬ 
mission,  and  wrote  to  my  friend  how  I  proposed  to  execute  it. 
He  replied  in  the  postscript  to  a  letter  already  extending  to 
four  sheets,  which  he  thus  characterizes  :  — 

“  My  letter  resembles  one  of  those  old  higglety-piggkty  houses  that  have 
been  so  much  tinkered  and  built  upon  that  one  hardly  knows  the  front 
from  the  rear.  I  have  got  to-day  your  letter  of  November  24th,  —  a  kind 
letter,  showing  that  you  are,  as  you  always  have  been  ever  since  you  came 
into  the  world,  thinking  how  you  can  best  serve  your  friends.  I  am  truly 
obliged  by  your  interest  in  the  little  Moliere  purchases,  and,  if  anything 
occurs  to  you  of  value  that  I  have  omitted,  pray  order  it . My  de¬ 

sign  is  to  write  a  notice  of  his  life  and  works,  which,  without  pretence  (for 
it  would  be  but  pretence)  to  critical  skill  in  the  French  language  or  drama, 

would  make  an  agreeable  book  for  the  parlor  table . As  the  thing, 

in  my  prosy  way,  would  take  two  or  three  years,  I  don’t  care  to  speak  of 
it  to  any  one  else. 

“  But  my  heart  is  set  on  a  Spanish  subject,  could  I  compass  the  mate¬ 
rials,  viz.  the  Conquest  of  Mexico,  and  the  anterior  civilization  of  the 
Mexicans,  —  a  beautiful  prose  epic,  for  which  rich  virgin  materials  teem 
in  Simancas  and  Madrid,  and  probably  in  Mexico.  I  would  give  a  couple 
of  thousand  dollars  that  they  lay  in  a  certain  attic  in  Bedford  Street.  But 
how  can  I  compass  it  in  these  troubled  times,  —  too  troubled,  it  would 
seem,  for  old  Navarrete  to  follow  down  the  stream  of  story,  which  he  has 
carried  to  the  very  time  of  Corte's.”  3 

his  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  and  hastening  to  finish  it,  he  recorded:  “But, 
after  all,  literary  history  is  more  consonant  with  my  taste,  my  turn  of  mind, 
and  all  my  previous  studies.  The  sooner  I  complete  my  present  work,  the 
sooner  I  shall  be  enabled  to  enter  upon  it.  So  festina." 

2  Now  (1862)  the  head  of  the  Imperial  Library  at  Paris. 

8  He  refers  to  the  remarkable  work  —  mainly  documentary  —  entitled 
“  Coleccion  de  Viages  y  Descubrimientos  que  hicieron  por  Mar  los  Espanoles 
desde  fines  del  Siglo  XV.  coordinada  6  ilustrada  por  Don  Martin  Fernandez 
de  Navarrete.”  Madrid,  1825-87.  5  Tomos,  4to.  It  begins,  of  course,  with 
Columbus;  but  it  comes  down  only  to  Loaisa  and  Saavedra,  without  touch¬ 
ing  the  expedition  of  Cortds  for  the  Conquest  of  Mexico;  or  even  approach¬ 
ing  that  of  the  Pizarros  for  the  Conquest  of  Peru.  The  manuscript  materials 
for  both  of  these,  however,  as  we  shall  see  hereafter,  were  placed  by  Navar¬ 
rete,  who  had  collected  them  for  publication,  with  true  Spanish  generosity 
at  the  disposition  of  Mr.  Prescott. 


IDLE  TIME. 


153 


The  result  of  the  matter  was,  that  I  sent  him  a  collection  of 
about  fifty  volumes,  which,  for  anybody  who  wished  to  write  a 
pleasant  life  of  Moliere,  left  little  to  be  desired,  and  nothing  for 
one  whose  purpose  was  general  literary  criticism,  rather  than 
curious  biographical  or  bibliographical  research.  But  before 
he  had  received  the  purchase  I  had  thus  made  for  him,  the 
success  of  his  “Ferdinand  and  Isabella”  had  happily  turned 
his  attention  again  to  the  Spanish  subject,  which  lay  nearest 
his  heart.  On  the  sixth  of  April,  he  wrote  to  me  concerning 
both  the  “  Mexico  ”  and  the  “  Moliere,”  telling  me,  at  the  same 
time,  of  a  pleasant  acquaintance  he  had  made,  which  promised 
much  to  favor  his  Spanish  project,  and  which,  in  the  end,  did 
a  great  deal  more,  giving  him  a  kind,  true,  and  important 
friend. 

“  I  have  been  much  gratified,”  he  says,  “  by  the  manner  in  which  the 
book  lias  been  received  by  more  than  one  intelligent  Spaniard  here,  in 
particular  by  the  Spanish  Minister,  Don  Angel  Calderon  dc  la  Barca,  who 
has  sent  me  a  present  of  books,  and  expresses  his  intention  of  translating 
my  History  into  Castilian.  In  consequence  of  this,  as  well  as  to  obtain 
his  assistance  for  the  other  crotchets  I  have  in  my  head,  I  paid  a  visit  to 
New  York  last  week,  —  a  momentous  affair,  for  it  would  be  easier  for  you 
to  go  to  Constantinople.  Well,  I  saw  his  Spanishship,  and  was  very  much 
pleased  with  him,  —  a  frank,  manly  caballero,  who  has  resigned  his  office 
from  a  refusal  to  subscribe  the  late  democratic  constitution.  He  is  quite 
an  accomplished  man,  and  in  correspondence  with  the  principal  Spanish 
scholars  at  home,  so  that  he  will  be  of  obvious  use  to  me  in  any  project  I 
may  have  hereafter.  He  told  me  he  had  sent  a  copy  of  the  work  to  the 
Royal  Academy  of  History,  and  should  present  one  to  the  Queen,  if  he 
had  not  retired  from  office.  There ’s  a  feather  in  my  cap  ! 

“  In  New  York  I  saw  your  old  friends  the  L - s,  and  passed  an  evening  ’ 

with  them.  It  is  ten  years  to  a  month  since  I  was  there  with  you . 

“  The  New-Yorkers  have  done  the  handsome  thing  by  me,  —  that  is, 
the  book.  But  sink  the  shop  !  I  have  dosed  you  and  Anna  with  quite 
enough  of  it.  The  truth  is,  I  always  talk  to  you  and  Anna  as  I  should 
to  my  own  flesh  and  blood  ;  and  if  you  do  not  so  take  it,  I  shall  make  a 
pretty  ridiculous  figure  in  your  eyes.  But  I  will  venture  it. 

“  I  believe  I  have  not  written  to  you  since  the  arrival  of  the  French 
books  [about  Moliere]  all  safe  and  sound.  Never  was  there  so  much 
viultum  in  so  little  parvo,  —  and  then  the  ‘  damage  ’  a  mere  bagatelle.  How 
much  am  I  obliged  to  you,  not  only  for  thinking,  but  for  thinking  in  the 
right  place  and  manner,  for  me,  and  for  acting  as  well  as  thinking.  I 
begin  to  believe  I  have  Fortunatus’s  wishing-cap  while  you  are  in  Europe. 
For  that  reason,  perhaps,  I  should  show  more  conscience  in  putting  the 
said  wishing-cap  on  my  head.  Well,  the  wish  I  have  nearest  at  heart, 
God  knows,  is  to  see  you  and  Anna  and  the  petites  6afe  on  this  side  of  the 
water  again.  And  that  will  come  to  pass,  too,  before  long.  You  will 
7  * 


154 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


find  us  a  few  years  older.  Father  Time  has  thinned  out  the  loose  hairs 
from  some  craniums,  and  shaken  bis  vile  dredging-box  over  others.  For 
myself,  I  have  turned  forty,  since  you  went  away,  —  an  ugly  corner,  that 
takes  a  man  into  the  shadow  of  life,  as  it  were.  But  better  be  in  the 
shadow  with  the  friends  you  love,  than  keep  in  the  everlasting  sunshine 
of  youth,  —  if  that  were  possible,  —  and  see  them  go  down  into  the  valley 
without  you.  One  does  not  feel  his  progress,  when  all  around  is  going  on 
at  the  same  rate.  I  shall  not,  however,  give  up  entirely  my  claims  to  be 
reckoned  young,  since  a  newspaper  this  very  week  styles  me  ‘  our  young 
and  modest  townsman.’  I  suppose  you  will  admit  one  epithet  to  be  as 
true  as  the  other.” 

As  we  have  seen,  the  period  that  followed  the  publication  of 
“  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  ”  was  not  fruitful  in  literary  results. 
Except  a  pleasant  article  on  Lockhart’s  “  Life  of  Scott,”  which 
he  prepared  for  the  “  North  American  Review,”  he  wrote 
nothing  during  that  winter,  —  not  even  his  accustomed  private 
memoranda.  No  doubt,  he  was,  in  one  sense,  idle,  and  he 
more  than  once  spoke  of  these  months  afterwards  with  regret 
and  pain ;  but  the  vacation,  though  a  pretty  long  one,  seems 
not  to  have  been  entirely  amiss  in  its  occupations  or  its  conse¬ 
quences.  He  read,  or  rather  listened  to  much  reading ;  light 
and  miscellaneous  in  general,  but  not  always  so.  Sometimes, 
indeed,  during  his  protracted  holidays,  it  was  of  the  gravest 
sort ;  for,  while  his  work  was  going  through  the  press,  he  oc¬ 
cupied  himself  again  with  careful  inquiries  into  the  authority 
and  doctrines  of  the  Christian  religion.  He  read  Marsh  on 
the  origin  of  the  first  three  Gospels  in  his  Prolegomena  to  the 
translation  of  “  Michaelis  ”  ;  the  first  volume  —  being  all  then 
published  —  of  Norton’s  “  Genuineness  of  the  Gospels,”  to 
whose  learning  and  power  he  bore  testimony  in  a  note  to  the 
“  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  ” ;  Newcome’s  “  Harmony  ” ;  Paley’s 
“Evidences”;  Middleton’s  “Free  Inquiry”;  and  Gibbon’s 
famous  chapters,  —  works  the  last  three  of  which  he  had 
considered  and  studied  before.  A  little  later  he  read  Norton’s 
“  Statement  of  Reasons,”  and  Furness  on  the  Four  Gospels  ; 
but  he  did  not  go  so  thoroughly  as  he  had  in  his  previous 
inquiries  into  the  orthodox  doctrines,  as  they  are  called ;  for, 
as  he  said,  he  was  more  and  more  satisfied  that  they  were  un¬ 
founded.  After  expressing  himself  decidedly  on  these  points, 
and  coming  to  the  general  conclusion  that  “the  study  of  po¬ 
lemics  or  biblical  critics  will  tend  neither  to  settle  principles 


HUMBOLDT. 


155 


nor  clear  up  doubts,  but  rather  to  confuse  the  former  and  mul¬ 
tiply  the  latter,”  he  concludes  with  these  striking  words :  — 

“  To  do  well  and  act  justly,  to  fear  and  to  love  God,  and  to  love  our 
neighbor  as  ourselves,  —  in  these  is  the  essence  of  religion.  To  do  this  is 
the  safest,  our  only  safe  course.  For  what  we  can  believe,  we  are  not 
responsible,  supposing  we  examine  candidly  and  patiently.  For  what  we 
do,  we  shall  indeed  be  accountable.  The  doctrines  of  the  Saviour  unfold 
the  whole  code  of  morals  by  which  our  conduct  should  be  regulated. 
Who,  then,  whatever  difficulties  he  may  meet  with  in  particular  incidents 
and  opinions  recorded  in  the  Gospels,  can  hesitate  to  receive  the  great  re¬ 
ligious  and  moral  truths  inculcated  by  the  Saviour  as  the  words  of  inspira¬ 
tion  ?  I  cannot,  certainly.  On  these,  then,  I  will  rest,  and  for  all  else 

‘  Wait  the  great  teacher  Death,  and  God  adore.’  ” 

When  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  “  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella  ”  was  a  successful  book,  and  likely  to  last,  —  a  re¬ 
sult  at  which  he  arrived  very  slowly,  —  he  abandoned  the  idea 
of  writing  the  Life  of  Moliere,  and  turned,  with  a  decided  pur¬ 
pose,  to  the  History  of  the  Conquest  of  Mexico,  which  had 
been,  for  some  time,  interesting  and  tempting  him  in  a  way 
not  to  be  resisted.  One  cause  of  his  long  hesitation  was  the 
doubt  he  felt  whether  he  could  obtain  the  materials  that  he 
deemed  necessary  for  the  work.  He  had  written  for  them  to 
Madrid,  in  April,  1838;  but  before  a  reply  could  reach  him, 
weary  of  a  vacation  which,  reckoning  from  the  time  when  he 
finished  the  composition  of  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  was  now 
protracted  to  nearly  two  years,  and  quite  sure  that  on  all  ac¬ 
counts  he  ought  to  be  at  work  again,  he  began  cautiously  to 
enter  on  his  new  subject  with  such  books  as  he  could  com¬ 
mand.4 

In  June  he  records  that  he  had  read  with  much  care  Hum¬ 
boldt’s  “  Researches  concerning  the  Institutions  of  the  Ancient 
inhabitants  of  America,”  and  his  “  New  Spain.”  It  was  his 
earliest  acquaintance  with  the  works  of  this  great  man,  except 
that,  when  writing  an  account  of  the  first  voyage  of  Columbus  for 
his  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  he  had  resorted  to  that  mine  of 
knowledge  and  philosophy,  the  “  Examen  Critique  de  l’Histoire 

4  He  felt  the  need  of  a  grave  subject,  and  of  success  ir.  it,  as,  I  think,  he 
always  did  after  he  had  once  begun  his  historical  career.  “  Mere  ephemeral 
success  ”  he  records  in  1838,  “  still  less  paltry  profit,  will  not  content  me  I 
am  confident.” 


156 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


et  de  la  Geographie  du  Nouveau  Continent.”  6  The  two  works 
he  now  studied  are,  however,  in  some  respects,  of  more  sig¬ 
nificance,  and  he  thus  notes  his  opinion  of  them :  — 

“  Humboldt  is  a  true  philosopher,  divested  of  local  or  national  preju¬ 
dices,  fortified  with  uncommon  learning,  which  supplies  him  with  abun¬ 
dant  illustrations  and  analogies.  Like  most  truly  learned  men,  he  is 
cautious  and  modest  in  his  deductions,  and,  though  he  assembles  very 
many  remarkable  coincidences  between  the  Old  World  and  the  New  in 
their  institutions,  notions,  habits,  &c.,  yet  he  does  not  infer  that  the  New 
World  was  peopled  from  the  Old,  —  much  less  from  what  particulai 
nation,  as  more  rash  speculators  have  done.” 

The  notes  to  his  “  Conquest  of  Mexico  ”  abound  in  similar 
expressions  of  admiration  for  the  great  traveller ;  a  man  who, 
as  an  observer  of  nature,  was  once  said  by  Biot  (a  competent 
judge,  if  anybody  was)  to  have  been  equalled  by  none  since  the 
days  of  Aristotle. 

But  though  my  friend  was  much  interested  in  these  work3, 
and,  during  the  year  1838,  read  or  ran  over  many  others  of  less 
moment  relating  to  the  geography  and  physical  condition  of 
that  part  of  America  to  which  they  relate,  he  did  not  yet  begin 
to  labor  in  earnest  on  his  “  Conquest  of  Mexico.”  In  Septem¬ 
ber,  his  disinclination  to  work  was  very  strong. 

“  I  have  been  indolent,”  he  says,  “  the  last  fortnight.  It  is  not  easy  to 
go  forward  without  the  steady  impulse  of  a  definite  object.  In  the  un¬ 
certainty  as  to  the  issue  of  my  application  in  Spain,  I  am  without  such 
impulse.  I  ought  always  to  find  sufficient  in  the  general  advantages  re¬ 
sulting  from  study  to  my  mental  resources,  —  advantages  to  be  felt  on 
whatever  subject  my  mind  is  engaged.  But  I  am  resolved  to  mend,  and 
to  employ  all  the  hours  my  reader  is  with  me,  and  something  more,  when 
my  eye  will  serve.  Of  one  thing  I  am  persuaded.  No  motives  but  those 
of  an  honest  fame  and  of  usefulness  will  have  much  weight  in  stimulating 
my  labors.  I  never  shall  be  satisfied  to  do  my  work  in  a  slovenly  way, 
nor  superficially.  It  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  do  the  job-work  of  a 
literary  hack.  Fortunately,  I  am  not  obliged  to  write  for  bread,  and  I 
never  will  write  for  money.” 

One  anxiety,  which  had  troubled  him  for  a  time,  was  re¬ 
moved  in  the  following  winter  by  the  prompt  courtesy  of  Mr. 
Washington  Irving.  It  was  not  such  an  anxiety  as  would  have 
occurred  to  everybody  under  the  same  circumstances,  nor  one 
that  would  have  been  always  so  readily  and  pleasantly  re¬ 
moved  as  it  was  in  the  present  case,  by  the  following  corre¬ 
spondence  :  — 

6  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  Part  I.  Chap.  XVI.,  notes 


Jc/„  t/f  -jiiare, 

WASHINGTON  IRVING, 

AT  THE  AGE  2  7 

From  -Ole  original  pictare  Iby  Jarvis. 


CORRESP ONDEN CE  WITH  JIB.  IRVING. 


157 


MR.  PRESCOTT  TO  MR.  IRVING. 


Boston,  Dec.  31,  1838. 


Mt  deak  Sib, 

If  you  will  allow  one  to  address  you  so  familiarly  who  has  not  the 
pleasure  of  your  personal  acquaintance,  though  lie  feels  as  if  he  had  known 
you  for  a  long  time.  Our  friend  Mr.  Cogswell,9  who  is  here  on  a  short 
visit,  has  mentioned  to  me  a  conversation  which  he  had  with  you  respect 
ing  the  design  I  had  formed  of  giving  an  account  of  the  Conquest  of 
Mexico  and  Peru.  I  hope  you  will  excuse  me  if  I  tell  you  how  the 
matter  stands  with  me. 

Soon  after  I  had  despatched  their  Catholic  Highnesses,  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella,  I  found  the  want  of  my  old  companions  in  the  long  hours  of  an 
idle  man’s  life,  and,  as  I  looked  round  for  something  else,  the  History  of 
Cortes  and  Pizarro  struck  me  as  the  best  subject,  from  its  growing  out  of 
the  period  I  had  become  familiar  with,  as  well  as  from  its  relation  to  our 
own  country.  I  found,  too,  that  I  had  peculiar  facilities  for  getting  such 
books  and  manuscripts  as  1  needed  from  Madrid,  through  the  kindness  of 
Senor  Calderon,  whom  you  know. 

The  only  doubts  I  had  on  the  subject  were  respecting  your  designs  in 
the  same  way,  since  you  had  already  written  the  adventures  of  the  early  dis¬ 
coverers.  I  thought  of  writing  to  you,  to  learn  from  you  your  intentions, 
but  I  was  afraid  it  might  seem  impertinent  in  a  stranger  to  pry  into  your 
affairs.  I  made  inquiries,  however,  of  several  of  your  friends,  and  could 
not  learn  that  you  had  any  purpose  of  occupying  yourself  with  the  sub¬ 
ject  ;  and,  as  you  had  never  made  any  public  intimation  of  the  sort,  I  be¬ 
lieve,  and  several  years  had  elapsed  since  your  last  publication  of  the  kind, 
during  which  your  attention  had  been  directed  in  another  channel,  I  con¬ 
cluded  that  you  had  abandoned  the  intention,  if  you  had  ever  formed  it. 

I  made  up  my  mind,  therefore,  to  go  on  with  it,  and,  as  I  proposed  to 
give  a  pretty  thorough  preliminary  view  of  the  state  of  civilization  in  Mex¬ 
ico  and  Peru  previous  to  the  Conquest,  I  determined  to  spare  no  pains  or 
expense  in  collecting  materials.  I  have  remitted  three  hundred  pounds  to 
Madrid  for  the  purchase  and  copying  of  books  and  manuscripts,  and  have 
also  sent  for  Lord  Kiugsborough’s  and  such  other  works  relating  to  Mex¬ 
ico  as  I  can  get  from  London.7  I  have  also  obtained  letters  to  individuals 
in  Mexico  for  the  purpose  of  collecting  what  may  be  of  importance  to  ma 
there.  Some  of  the  works  from  London  have  arrived,  and  the  drafts  ho  in 


8  The  reference  here  is  to  Mr.  J.  G.  Cogswell,  the  well-known  head  of  the 
Astor  Library,  New  York,  to  whose  disinterestedness,  enthusiasm,  and  knowl¬ 
edge  that  important  institution  owes  hardly  less  of  its  character  and  success 
than  it  does  to  the  elder  Mr.  Astor,  whose  munificence  founded  it,  or  to  the 
younger  Mr.  Astor,  who,  in  the  same  spirit,  has  sustained  it  and  increased 
its  resources.  Mr.  Cogswell,  from  his  youth,  was  intimate  in  the  Prescott 
family,  and  always  much  cherished  by  every  member  of  it ;  so  that,  being 
on  equally  intimate  and  affectionate  terms  with  Mr.  Irving,  he  was  the  best 
possible  person  to  arrange  such  a  delicate  affair  between  the  parties. 

1  This  he  had  done  about  nine  months  earlier. 


138 


WILLIAM  HICKLIXG  PRESCOTT. 


Madrid  show  that  my  orders  are  executing  there.  Such  works  as  can  be 
got  here  in  a  pretty  good  collection  in  the  College  library  I  have  already 
examined,  and  wait  only  for  my  books  from  Spain. 

This  is  the  state  of  affairs  now  that  I  have  learned  from  Mr.  C.  that 
you  had  originally  proposed  to  treat  the  same  subject,  and  that  you  re¬ 
quested  him  to  say  to  me,  that  you  should  relinquish  it  in  ray  favor.  I 
cannot  sufficiently  express  to  you  my  sense  of  your  courtesy,  which  I  can 
very  w  all  appreciate,  as  I  know  the  mortification  it  would  have  caused  me, 
if,  contrary  to  my  expectations,  I  had  found  you  on  the  ground  ;  for  I  am 
but  a  dull  sailer  from  the  embarrassments  I  labor  under,  and  should  have 
found  but  sorry  gleanings  in  the  field  which  you  had  thoroughly  burnt 
over,  as  they  say  in  the  West.  I  fbar  the  public  will  not  feel  so  much 
pleased  sis  myself  by  this  liberal  conduct  on  your  parr,  and  I  am  not  sure 
that  I  should  have  a  right  in  their  eyes  to  avail  myself  of  it.8  But  I  trust 
you  will  think  differently  when  I  accept  your  proffered  courtesy  in  the 
same  cordial  spirit  in  which  it  was  given. 

It  will  be  conferring  a  still  further  favor  on  me,  if  you  will  allow  me 
occasionally,  when  I  may  find  the  want  of  it,  to  ask  your  advice  in  the 
progress  of  the  work.  There  are  few  persons  among  us  who  have  paid 
much  attention  to  these  studies,  and  no  one,  here  or  elsewhere,  is  so 
familiar  as  yourself  with  the  track  of  Spanish  adventure  in  the  New  World 
and  so  well  qualified  certainly  to  give  advice  to  a  comparatively  raw  hand. 
Do  not  fear  that  this  will  expose  you  to  a  troublesome  correspondence.  I 
have  never  been  addicted  to  much  letter-writing,  though,  from  the  speci¬ 
men  before  you,  I  am  afraid  you  will  think  those  I  do  write  aro  some¬ 
what  of  the  longest. 

Believe  me  dear  Sir,  with  great  respect, 

Your  obliged  and  obedient  servant, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 

P.  S.  Will  you  permit  me  to  say,  that  if  you  have  any  materials  in 
your  own  library  having  a  bearing  on  this  subject,  that  cannot  be  got  here, 
and  that  you  have  no  occasion  for  yourself,  it  will  be  a  great  favor  if  you 
will  dispose  of  them  to  me. 


MR.  IRVING  TO  MR.  PRESCOTT. 


New  York,  Jan.  18,  1839. 


My  dear  Sir, 

Your  letter  met  with  some  delay  in  reaching  me,  and  since  the  receipt 
of  it  I  have  been  hovering  between  town  and  country,  so  as  to  have  had 
no  quiet  leisure  for  an  earlier  reply. 

I  had  always  intended  to  write  an  account  of  the  “  Conquest  of  Mex¬ 
ico,”  as  a  suite  to  my  “  Columbus,”  but  left  Spain  without  making  the 


8  A  similar  idea  is  very  gracefully  expressed  in  the  Preface  to  the  Conquest 
of  Mexico,  where,  after  relating  the  circumstance  of  Mr.  Irving’s  relinquish¬ 
ment  of  the  subject,  Mr.  Prescott  adds:  “  While  I  do  but  justice  to  Mr.  Irving 
by  this  statement,  I  feel  the  prejudice  it  does  to  myself  in  the  unavailing  re 
gret  I  am  exciting  in  the  bosom  of  the  reader.” 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  MR.  IRVING. 


153 


requisite  researches.  The  unsettled  life  I  subsequently  led  for  some  years, 
and  the  interruptions  to  my  literary  plans  by  other  occupations,  made  ma 
defer  the  undertaking  from  year  to  year.  Indeed,  the  more  I  considered 
the  subject,  the  more  I  became  aware  of  the  necessity  of  devoting  to  it 
great  labor,  patient  research,  and  watchful  discrimination,  to  get  at  the 
truth,  and  to  dispel  the  magnificent  mirage  with  which  it  is  enveloped.  For, 
unless  this  were  done,  a  work,  however  well  executed  in  point  of  literary 
merit,  would  be  liable  to  be  subverted  and  superseded  by  subsequent  works, 
grounded  on  those  documentary  evidences  that  might  be  dug  out  of  the 
chaotic  archives  of  Spain.  These  considerations  loomed  into  great  ob¬ 
stacles  in  my  mind,  and,  amidst  the  hurry  of  other  matters,  delayed  me  in 
putting  my  hand  to  the  enterprise. 

About  three  years  since  I  made  an  attempt  at  it,  and  set  one  of  my 
nephews  to  act  as  pioneer  and  get  together  materials  under  my  direction, 
but  his  own  concerns  called  him  elsewhere,  and  the  matter  was  again  post¬ 
poned.  Last  autumn,  after  a  fit  of  deep  depression,  feeling  the  want  of 
something  to  rouse  and  exercise  my  mind,  I  again  recurred  to  this  subject. 
Fearing  that,  if  I  waited  to  collect  materials,  I  should  never  take  hold  of 
them,  and  knowing  my  own  temperament  and  habits  of  mind,  I  determined 
to  dash  into  it  at  once ;  sketch  out  a  narrative  of  the  whole  enterprise, 
using  Solis,  Herrera,  and  Bernal  Diaz  as  my  guide-books  ;  and,  having 
thus  acquainted  myself  with  the  whole  ground,  and  kindled  myself  into  a 
heat  by  the  exercise  of  drafting  the  story,  to  endeavor  to  strengthen,  cor¬ 
rect,  direct,  and  authenticate  my  work  by  materials  from  every  source 
within  my  reach. 

I  accordingly  set  to  work,  and  had  made  it  my  daily  occupation  for 
about  three  months,  and  sketched  out  the  groundwork  for  the  first  volume, 
when  I  learned  from  Mr.  Cogswell  that  you  had  undertaken  the  same 
enterprise.  I  at  once  felt  how  much  more  justice  the  subject  would  re¬ 
ceive  at  your  hands.  Ever  since  I  had  been  meddling  with  the  theme,  its 
grandeur  and  magnificence  had  been  growing  upon  me,  and  I  had  felt 
more  and  more  doubtful  whether  I  should  be  able  to  treat  it  conscientiously, 
—  that  is  to  say,  with  the  extensive  research  and  thorough  investigation 
which  it  merited.  The  history  of  Mexico  prior  to  the  discovery  and  con¬ 
quest,  and  the  actual  state  of  its  civilization  at  the  time  of  the  Spanish 
invasion,  are  questions  in  the  highest  degree  curious  and  interesting,  yet 
difficult  to  be  ascertained  clearly  from  the  false  lights  thrown  upon  them. 
Even  the  writings  of  Padre  Sahagun  perplex  one  as  to  the  degree  of  faith  to 
be  placed  in  them.  These  themes  are  connected  with  the  grand  enigma 
that  rests  upon  the  primitive  population  and  civilization  of  the  American 
continent,  and  of  which  the  singular  monuments  and  remains  scattered 
throughout  the  wilderness  serve  but  as  tantalizing  indications. 

The  manner  in  which  you  have  executed  your  noble  “  History  of  Fer¬ 
dinand  and  Isabella  ”  gave  me  at  once  an  assurance  that  you  were  the  man 
to  undertake  the  subject.  Your  letter  shows  that  I  was  not  wrong  in  the 
conviction,  and  that  you  have  already  set  to  work  on  the  requisite  prepa¬ 
rations.  In  at  once  yielding  up  the  thing  to  you,  I  feel  that  I  am  but 
doing  my  duty  in  leaving  one  of  the  most  magnificent  themes  in  American 
history  to  be  treated  by  one  who  -will  build  up  from  it  an  enduring  mon¬ 
ument  in  the  literature  of  our  country.  I  only  hope  that  I  may  live  to  se« 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PKESCOTT. 


1*50 

your  work  executed,  and  to  read  in  it  an  authentic  account  of  that  con¬ 
quest,  and  a  satisfactory  discussion  of  the  various  questions  which  since  my 
boyhood  have  been  full  of  romantic  charm  to  me,  but  which,  while  they 
excited  my  imagination,  have  ever  perplexed  my  judgment. 

I  am  sorry  that  I  have  no  works  to  offer  you  that  you  have  not  in  the 
Boston  libraries.  I  have  mentioned  the  authors  I  was  malting  use  of. 
They  are  to  be  found  in  the  Boston  Athenaeum,  though  I  doubt  not  you 
have  them  in  your  own  possession.  While  in  Madrid,  I  had  a  few  chap¬ 
ters  of  Padre  Sahagun  copied  out  for  me,  relating  merely  to  some  points 
of  the  Spanish  invasion.  His  work  you  will  find  in  Lord  Kingsborough’s 
collection.  It  professes  to  give  a  complete  account  of  Mexico  prior  to  the 
conquest,  its  public  institutions,  trades,  callings,  customs,  &c.,  &c.  Should 
I  lind  among  my  books  any  that  may  be  likely  to  be  of  service,  I  will  send 
them  to  you.  In  the  mean  time  do  not  hesitate  to  command  my  services 
in  any  way  you  may  think  proper. 

I  am  scrawling  this  letter  in  great  haste,  as  you  will  doubtless  perceive, 
but  beg  you  will  take  it  as  a  proof  of  the  sincere  and  very  high  respect 
and  esteem  with  which  I  am 

Your  friend  and  servant, 

Washington  Irving.9 


MR.  PRESCOTT  TO  MR.  IRVING. 


Boston,  Jan.  25,  1839. 

Mr  dear  Sir, 

You  will  be  alarmed  at  again  seeing  an  epistle  from  me  so  soon,  but  I 
cannot  refrain  from  replying  to  your  very  kind  communication.  I  have 
read  your  letter  with  much  interest,  and  —  I  may  truly  say,  as  to  that 
part  of  it  which  animadverts  on  the  importance  of  the  theme,  as  illustrat¬ 
ing  the  Mexican  Antiquities  —  with  some  dismay.  I  fear  you  will  be 
sadly  disappointed,  if  you  expect  to  see  a  solution  by  me  of  those  vexed 
questions  which  have  bewildered  the  brains  of  so  many  professed  anti¬ 
quarians.  My  fingers  are  too  clumsy  to  unravel  such  a  snarl.  All  I  pro¬ 
pose  to  do  in  this  part  of  the  subject  is,  to  present  the  reader  such  a  view 
of  the  institutions  and  civilization  of  the  conquered  people  as  will  interest 
him  in  their  fortunes.  To  do  this,  it  will  not  be  necessary,  I  hope,  to  in¬ 
volve  myself  in  those  misty  speculations  which  require  better  sight  than 
mine  to  penetrate,  but  only  to  state  facts  as  far  as  they  can  be  gathered 
from  authentic  story. 


9  How  Mr.  Prescott  felt  on  receiving  this  letter,  may  be  seen  from  the  fol 
lowing  note  enclosing  it  to  me,  the  day  it  came  to  band :  — 


January,  21st. 

Mio  Carissimo, 

I  told  you  that  I  wrote  to  Irving,  thanking  him  for  his  courtesy  the  other 
day.  Here  is  his  response,  which  I  thought  you  would  like  to  see.  He  puts 
me  into  a  fright,  by  the  terrible  responsibilities  he  throws  on  the  subject,  or 
rather  on  the  man  who  meddles  with  it. 


Ever  thine, 

W.  H.  Prescott. 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  MR.  IRVING. 


167 


For  this  part  of  the  subject,  therefore,  I  have  not  attempted  to  collect 
manuscripts,  of  which  I  suppose  there  is  a  great  number  in  the  libraries  of 
Mexico,  —  at  least,  there  was  in  Clavigero’s  time,  —  but  I  shall  content 
myself  with  the  examination  of  such  works  as  have  been  before  the  public, 
including,  indeed,  the  compilation  of  Lord  Kingsborough,  and  the  great 
French  work,  “  Antiquite's  Mexicaines,”  since  published,  the  chief  value 
of  both  of  which,  I  suspect,  except  the  chronicle  of  Sahagun  in  the  former, 
consists  in  their  pictorial  illustrations.  My  chief  object  is  the  Conquest, 
and  the  materials  I  am  endeavoring  to  collect  are  with  the  view  to  the 
exhibition  of  this  in  the  most  authentic  light. 

It  will  give  you  satisfaction  to  learn  that  my  efforts  in  Spain  promise 
to  be  attended  with  perfect  success.  I  received  letters  last  week  from 
Madrid,  informing  me  that  the  Academy  of  History,  at  the  instance  of 
Senor  Navarrete,  had  granted  my  application  to  have  copies  taken  of  any 
and  all  manuscripts  in  their  possession  having  relation  to  the  Conquest  of 
Mexico  and  Peru,  and  had  appointed  one  of  their  body  to  carry  this  into 
effect.  This  person  is  a  German,  named  Lembke,  the  author  of  a  wort 
on  the  early  history  of  Spain,  which  one  of  the  English  journals,  I  re 
member,  rapped  me  over  the  knuckles  for  not  having  seen.10  Thi, 
learned  Theban  happens  to  be  in  Madrid  for  the  nonce,  pursuing  soni. 
investigations  of  his  own,  and  he  has  taken  charge  of  mine,  like  a  tru 
German,  inspecting  every  tiling  and  selecting  just  what  has  reference  to  mj 
subject.  In  this  way  he  has  been  employed  with  four  copyists  since  Julj , 
and  has  amassed  a  quantity  of  unpublished  documents  illustrative  of  tin 
Mexican  Conquest,  which,  he  writes  me,  will  place  the  expedition  in  4. 
new  and  authentic  light.  He  has  already  sent  off  two  boxes  to  Cadiz, 
and  is  now  employed  in  hunting  up  the  materials  relating  to  Peru,  i>. 
which,  he  says,  the  Library  appears  to  be  equally  rich.  I  wish  he  tnaj 
not  be  too  sanguine,  and  that  the  manuscripts  may  not  fall  into  the  handi 
of  Carlist  or  Christino,  who  would  probably  work  them  up  into  musket- 
waddings  in  much  less  time  than  they  were  copying. 

The  specifications  of  manuscripts,  furnished  me  by  Dr.  Lembke,  mak* 
me  feel  nearly  independent  of  Mexico,  with  which  the  communication* 
are  now  even  more  obstructed  than  with  Spain.  I  have  endeavored  to 
open  them,  however,  through  Mr.  Poinsett  and  the  Messrs.  Barings,  and 
cannot  but  hope  I  shall  succeed  through  one  or  the  other  channel. 

I  had  no  idea  of  your  having  looked  into  the  subject  so  closely  your 
self,  still  less  that  you  had  so  far  broken  ground  on  it.  I  regret  now  tlia* 
I  had  not  communicated  with  you  earlier  in  a  direct  way,  as  it  might  have 

10  Geschichte  von  Spanien,  von  Friederich  Wilhelm  Lembke,  Erster  Band 
Hamburg,  1831,  8vo.  It  goes  no  farther  than  about  the  year  A.  D.  800,  and 
therefore  could  not  have  been  of  the  least  importance  to  one  writing  the  His¬ 
tory  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  who  lived  seven  hundred  years  later.  Dr. 
Lembke,  indeed,  rendered  good  service  to  Mr.  Prescott  in  collecting  the 
materials  for  the  “  Conquests  ”  of  Mexico  and  Peru;  but  he  wrote  no  morn 
of  his  own  History  of  Spain,  which  was,  however,  continued  by  Heinrich 
Schafer,  down  to  about  1100,  —  a  period  still  far  front  that  of  the  Catholic 
Sovereigns,  —  besides  which  Schafer’s  work  did  not  appear  until  1844,  ski 
years  alter  the  appearance  of  the  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.”  So  much  for 
the  clairvoyance  of  the  English  journalist. 

K 


162 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


saved  both,  or  rather  one  of  us,  some  previous  preparation ;  for  during 
tiio  summer  and  autumn  I  have  been  occupied  with  the  investigation  of 
the  early  Mexican  history,  having  explored  all  the  sources  within  my 
reach  here,  and  being  stopped  by  the  want  of  [more  of]  them. 

Now  that  I  have  gone  on  so  far  with  my  preparations,  I  can  only 
acknowledge  your  great  courtesy  towards  me  with  my  hearty  thanks,  for 
I  know  well  that  whatever  advantage  I  might  have  acquired  on  the  score 
of  materials  would  have  been  far  —  very  far  —  outweighed  by  the  superi¬ 
ority  in  all  other  respects  of  what  might  fall  from  your  pen.  And  your 
relinquishing  the  ground  seems  to  impose  on  me  an  additional  responsi 
hility,  to  try  to  make  your  place  good,  from  which  a  stouter  heart  than 
mine  might  well  shrink.  I  trust,  however,  that  in  you  I  shall  find  a  gen¬ 
erous  critic,  and  allow  me  to  add,  with  sincerity,  that  the  kind  words  you 
have  said  of  the  only  child  of  my  brain  have  gratified  me,  and  touched 
me  more  deeply  than  anything  that  has  yet  reached  me  from  my  coun¬ 
trymen. 

Believe  me,  my  dear  sir, 

With  sincere  respect, 

Y our  friend  ana  servant, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 


Since  writing  this  chapter,  and,  in  fact,  since  this  work  itself  was  finished 
and  sent  to  press,  the  third  volume  of  the  charming  “  Life  and  Letters  of 
Washington  Irving,  by  his  Nephew,  Pierre  M.  Irving,”  has  been  published. 
It  contains  the  following  additional  interesting  facts  upon  the  subject  of  the 
Conquest  of  Mexico:  — 

“  Mr.  Irving,”  says  his  biographer,  “  was  now  busy  upon  the  History  of  the 
Conquest  of  Mexico,  and  it  was  upon  this  theme  that  he  was  exercising  that 
‘  vein  of  literary  occupation  ’  alluded  to  at  the  close  of  the  foregoing  letter  [to 
Mrs.  Van  Wart,  his  sister].  He  had  not  only  commenced  the  work,  but  had 
made  a  rough  draught  to  form  the  groundwork  of  the  first  volume,  when  he 
went  to  New  York  to  procure  or  consult  some  books  on  the  subject.  He  wa3 
engaged  in  the  ‘  City  Library,’  as  it  is  commonly  designated,  though  its  official 
style  is  ‘The  New  York  Society  Library,’  then  temporarily  in  Chambers 
Street,  when  he  was  accosted  by  Mr.  Joseph  G.  Cogswell,  the  eminent 
scholar,  afterwards  so  long  and  honorably  connected  with  the  Astor  Library. 
It  was  from  this  gentleman  that  Mr.  Irving  first  learned  that  Mr.  Prescott, 
who  had  a  few  months  before  gained  a  proud  name  on  both  sides  of  the 
Atlantic,  by  his  ‘History  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,’  now  had  the  work  in 
contemplation  upon  which  he  had  actively  commenced.  Cogswell  first 
sounded  him,  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Prescott,  to  know  what  subject  he  was  occu¬ 
pied  upon,  as  he  did  not  wish  to  come  again  across  the  same  ground  with 
him.  Mr.  Irving  asked,  ‘  Is  Mr.  Prescott  engaged  upon  an  American  sub¬ 
ject?  ’  ‘  He  is,’  was  the  reply.  ‘  What  is  it?  Is  it  the  Conquest  of  Mexi¬ 
co?’  ‘It  is,’  answered  Cogswell.  ‘Well  then,’  said  Mr.  Irving,  ‘I  am 
engaged  upon  that  subject ;  but  tell  Mr.  Prescott  I  abandon  it  to  him,  and  I 
am  happy  to  have  this  opportunity  of  testifying  my  high  esteem  for  his  talents 
and  my  sense  of  the  very  courteous  manner  in  which  he  has  spoken  of  myself 


MR.  IRVING. 


163 


and  my  writings,  in  his  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  though  they  interfered 
with  a  part  of  the  subject  of  his  history.’  ” 

About  five  years  later,  Mr.  Irving,  then  our  Minister  in  Spain,  received  from 
Mr.  Prescott  a  copy  of  his  “  History  of  the  Conquest  of  Mexico,”  in  the 
Preface  to  which  he  makes  his  public  acknowledgment  to  Mr.  Irving  for 
giving  up  the  subject. 

How  Mr.  Irving  received  it  will  appear  from  the  following  account  by  his 
biographer.  “  ‘  I  need  not  say,’  writes  Mr.  Irving  to  me,  in  noticing  its  re¬ 
ceipt,  ‘  how  much  I  am  delighted  with  the  work.  It  well  sustains  the  high 
reputation  acquired  by  the  “  History  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.  ”  ’  Then,  ad¬ 
verting  to  the  terms  of  Mr.  Prescott’s  handsome  acknowledgment  in  the  Pre¬ 
face,  to  which  I  had  called  his  attention,  he  adds :  ‘  I  doubt  whether  Mr.  Prescott 
was  aware  of  the  extent  of  the  sacrifice  I  made.  This  was  a  favorite  subject, 
which  had  delighted  my  imagination  ever  since  I  was  a  boy.  I  had  brought 
home  books  from  Spain  to  aid  me  in  it,  and  looked  upon  it  as  the  pendant  to 
my  Columbus.  When  I  gave  it  up  to  him,  I,  in  a  manner,  gave  him  up  my 
bread;  for  I  depended  upon  the  profit  of  it  to  recruit  my  waning  finances.  I 
had  no  other  subject  at  hand  to  supply  its  place.  I  was  dismounted  from  my 
cheval  de  bataille,  and  have  never  been  completely  mounted  since.  Had  I 
accomplished  that  work,  my  whole  pecuniary  situation  would  have  been 
altered .  When  I  made  the  sacrifice,  it  was  not  with  a  view  to  com¬ 

pliments  or  thanks,  but  from  a  warm  and  sudden  impulse.  I  am  not  sorry 
for  having  made  it.  Mr.  Prescott  has  justified  the  opinion  I  expressed  at  the 
time,  that  he  would  treat  the  subject  with  more  close  and  ample  research 
than  I  should  probably  do,  and  would  produce  a  work  more  thoroughly 
worthy  of  the  theme.  He  has  produced  a  work  that  does  honor  to  himself 
and  his  country,  and  I  wish  him  the  full  enjoyment  of  his  laurels.’  ”  —  Life 
of  Irving,  1863,  Vol.  III.  pp.  133  sqq.,  and  143  sqq. 

There  are  few  so  beautiful  passages  as  this  in  literary  history,  deformed  as 
it  often  is  with  the  jealousies  and  quarrels  of  authorship.  One,  however,  not 
unlike  it  will  be  found  subsequently  in  this  volume,  when  we  come  to  the 
relations  between  the  author  of  the  “  History  of  Philip  the  Second,”  and  the 
author  of  “  The  Rise  of  the  Dutch  Republic.” 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


1839-  1842. 

His  Correspondence  becomes  Important.  —  Letter  to  Irving.  —  Let 
TERS  FROM  SlSMONDI,  THIERRY,  TYTLER,  AND  ROGERS.  —  LETTER  tt 

Gayangos.  —  Memoranda.  —  Letters  to  Gayangos,  and  others 
Letters  from  Ford  and  Tytler. 

UNTIL  some  time  after  the  appearance  of  “  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella,”  Mr.  Prescott  wrote  very  few  letters  to 
anybody,  and  most  of  those  he  did  write  are  lost.  He  corre¬ 
sponded,  of  course,  with  his  family,  in  1816  and  1817,  when 
he  was  in  Europe,  and  he  wrote  subsequently  to  one  or  two 
personal  and  household  friends,  whenever  he  or  they  happened 
to  be  away  from  Boston.  These  letters,  so  far  as  they  have 
been  preserved,  I  have  used  in  the  preceding  narrative.  But 
his  life,  though  he  was  much  in  society  in  Boston,  was  —  both 
from  preference  and  from  his  peculiar  infirmities  —  in  one 
sense  very  retired.  He  travelled  hardly  at  all,  Blinking  that 
the  exposures  involved  by  journeys  injured  his  eye,  and  there¬ 
fore  the  occasions  on  which  he  wrote  letters  to  his  family  were 
very  rare.  At  the  same  time,  his  urgent  and  steady  occupa¬ 
tions  made  it  difficult  for  him  to  write  to  others,  so  that  he  had 
no  regular  correspondence  from  1818  to  1839  with  any  single 
person.  In  one  of  the  few  letters  that  he  wrote  before  he  be¬ 
came  known  as  an  author,  he  says  that  in  the  preceding  three 
months  he  had  written  to  but  two  persons,  —  to  both  on  busi¬ 
ness  ;  and  in  another  letter,  equally  on  business,  but  written  a 
little  later,  he  says,  that  the  friend  to  whom  it  was  addressed 
would  “hardly  know  what  to  make  of  it”  that  he  should  write 
to  him  at  all. 

With  his  private  Memoranda,  begun  in  1820,  and  continued 
to  the  last,  so  as  to  fill  above  twelve  hundred  pages,  the  case 
is  somewhat  different,  although  the  result  is  nearly  the  same. 
Ample  enough  they  certainly  are  from  the  first,  and,  for  their 


CORRESPONDENCE. 


165 


private  purposes,  they  are  both  apt  and  sufficient.  But  nearly 
or  quite  the  whole  of  the  earlier  two-thirds  of  this  minute 
record  is  filled  with  an  account  of  his  daily  studies,  of  his  good 
resolutions,  often  broken,  and  of  his  plans  for  the  future,  often 
disappointed.  Such  records  were  from  their  nature  only  for 
himself,  and  only  of  transient  interest  even  to  him. 

But  after  the  success  of  the  “Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  his 
relations  to  the  world  were  changed,  and  so,  in  some  degree, 
were  his  hopes  and  purposes  in  life.  While,  therefore,  until 
that  time,  his  correspondence  and  Memoranda  furnish  few  ma¬ 
terials  for  his  life,  they  constitute  afterwards  not  only  the  best, 
but  the  largest,  part  of  whatever  may  be  needful  to  exhibit  him 
as  he  really  was.  I  begin,  therefore,  at  once  with  the  letters 
and  Memoranda  of  1839,  for,  although  some  of  them  look  much 
ahead,  and  talk  about  his  “  History  of  Philip  the  Second,” 
while  he  was  yet  busy  with  the  “  Conquest  of  Mexico,”  and 
before  he  had  even  taken  in  hand  that  of  Peru,  still  they  show 
what,  at  the  time,  were  his  occupations  and  thoughts,  and  give 
proof  of  the  providence  and  forecast  which  always  constituted 
important  traits  in  his  character,  and  contributed  much  to  his 
success  in  whatever  he  undertook. 

The  first  of  his  letters  belonging  to  this  period  is  one  con¬ 
taining  his  views  on  a  subject  which  has  by  no  means  yet  lost 
the  whole  of  its  interest  as  a  public  question,  —  that  of  inter¬ 
national  copyright. 


TO  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 

Boston,  Dec.  24,  1839. 

My  dear  Sir, 

I  received  some  weeks  since  a  letter  from  Dr.  Licber,  of  Columbia  Col¬ 
lege,  South  Carolina,  in  which  lie  informed  me,  that  measures  were  to  be 
taken  in  Congress,  this  session,  for  making  such  an  alteration  in  our  copy¬ 
right  law  as  should  secure  the  benefits  of  it  to  foreigners,  and  thus  enable 
us  to  profit  in  turn  by  theirs.  He  was  very  desirous  that  I  should  write, 
if  I  could  not  see  you  personally,  and  request  your  co-operation  in  the 
matter.  I  felt  very  reluctant  to  do  so,  knowing  that  you  must  be  much 
better  acquainted  than  I  was  with  the  state  of  the  aflair,  and,  of  course, 
could  judge  much  better  what  was  proper  to  be  done.  My  indefatigable 
correspondent,  however,  has  again  written  to  me,  pressing  the  necessity  of 
communicating  with  you,  and  stating  in  confidence,  as  he  says,  that  Mr. 


166 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


Clay  is  to  bring  in  a  bill  this  session,  and  that  Mr.  Preston 1  is  to  make 
the  speech,  &c.  Mr.  Preston  told  him  that  it  would  be  very  desirable  to 
have  a  brief  memorial,  signed  by  the  persons  most  interested  in  the  success 
of  the  law,  and  that  you  were  the  proper  person  to  prepare  it.  If  anything 
be  done,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  you  are  the  one  who,  from  your  lit¬ 
erary  position  in  the  country,  should  take  the  lead  in  it.  Whether  anything 
effectual  can  be  done  seems  to  me  very  doubtful. 

Such  a  law  is  certainly  demanded  by  every  principle  of  justice.  But  I 
suspect  it  is  rather  late  in  the  day  to  talk  of  justice  to  statesmen.  At  all 
events,  one  of  those  newspapers  which  they  are  now  turning  out  every 
week  here,  and  which  contains  an  octavo  volume  of  the  new  publications, 
at  sixpence  apiece,  will,  I  am  afraid,  be  too  cogent  an  argument  in  favor 
of  the  present  state  of  things,  to  be  refuted  by  the  best  memorial  ever 
drafted.  Still  we  can  but  try,  aud,  while  the  effort  is  making  by  the  best 
men  in  Congress,  it  may  be  our  duty  to  try. 

Of  all  this,  however,  you  can  best  judge.  I  can  only  say,  that,  if  you 
will  prepare  a  paper,  I  shall  be  very  glad,  when  it  has  been  signed  in  your 
city,  to  do  all  in  my  power  to  get  such  signatures  to  it  here  as  will  give  it 
most  weight.  I  trust  I  shall  not  appear  to  you  officious  in  this  matter, 
for  I  can  well  understand,  from  my  own  feelings,  how  distasteful  this  sort 
of  work  must  be  to  you. 

It  will  give  you  pleasure,  I  flatter  myself,  to  know  that  I  have  com¬ 
pletely  succeeded  in  my  negotiations  in  Spain.  Senor  Navarrcte,  with 
whom  you  were  acquainted  in  Madrid,  has  very  liberally  supplied  me  ■with 
copies  of  his  entire  collection  of  manuscripts  relating  to  Mexico  and  Peru, 
which  it  is  improbable  from  his  advanced  age  that  he  will  ever  publish 
himself.  Through  his  aid  I  have  also  obtained  from  the  Academy  copies 
of  the  collections  made  by  Munoz  and  by  its  former  President,  Vargas  y 
Ponce,  making  all  together  some  five  thousand  pages,  all  in  fair  condi¬ 
tion,  —  the  flower  of  my  Spanish  veterans. 

Prom  Mexico,  through  my  good  friend  Calderon,  who  is  now  gone 
there,  you  know,  as  minister,  I  look  for  further  ammunition,  —  though  I 
am  pretty  independent  of  that  now.  I  have  found  some  difficulty  in  col¬ 
lecting  the  materials  for  the  preliminary  view  I  propose  of  the  Aztec  civi¬ 
lization.  The  works  are  expensive,  and  Lord  Ivingsborough’s  is  locked 
up  in  chancery.  I  have  succeeded,  however,  in  ferreting  out  a  copy, 
which,  to  say  truth,  though  essential,  has  somewhat  disappointed  me. 
The  whole  of  that  part  of  the  story  is  in  twilight,  and  I  fear  I  shall  at  least 
make  only  moonshine  of  it.  I  must  hope  that  it  will  be  good  moonshine. 
It  will  go  hard  with  me,  however,  but  that  I  can  fish  something  new  out 
of  my  ocean  of  manuscripts. 

As  I  have  only  half  an  eye  of  my  own,  and  that  more  for  show  than 
use,  my  progress  is  necessarily  no  more  than  a  snail’s  gallop.  I  should 
be  very  glad  to  show  you  my  literary  wares,  but  I  fear  you  are  too  little 
of  a  locomotive  in  your  habits  to  afford  me  that  great  pleasure.  Though 
I  cannot  see  you  bodily,  however,  I  am  sitting  under  the  light  of  your 
countenance,  —  for  you  are  ranged  above  me  (your  immortal  part)  in  a 

1  William  C  Preston,  then  in  the  Senate  of  the  United  States  from  South 
Carolina. 


LETTER  FROM  J.  C.  L.  DE  SISMONDI. 


167 


goodly  row  of  octavos,  —  not  in  the  homespun  garb,  but  in  the  nice  cos¬ 
tume  of  Albemarle  and  Burlington  Streets. 

Mv  copy  of  the  Sketch-Book,  by  the  by,  is  the  one  owned  by  Sir  James 
Mackintosh,  and  with  his  penciilings  in  the  margin.  It  was  but  last  even¬ 
ing  that  my  little  girl  read  us  one  of  the  stories,  which  had  just  enough  of 
the  mysterious  to  curdle  the  blood  in  the  veins  of  her  younger  brother,  who 
stopped  up  both  his  ears,  saying  he  “  would  not  hear  such  things  just  as 
he  was  going  to  bed,”  and  as  our  assertions  that  no  harm  would  come  of 
it  were  all  in  vain,  we  were  obliged  to  send  the  urchin  off  to  his  quarters 
with,  I  fear,  no  very  grateful  feelings  towards  the  author. 

At  about  the  same  time  that  he  wrote  thus  to  Mr.  Irving, 
he  received  three  letters  from  eminent  historians,  which  gave 
him  much  pleasure.  The  first  is 

FROM  M.  J.  C.  L.  DE  SISMONDI. 


Sir, 

I  have  just  received  your  letter  from  Boston,  of  the  1  si  of  July,  with  the 
beautiful  present  which  accompanies  it.  It  has  touched  me,  it  has  flattered 
me,  but  at  the  same  time  it  has  made  me  experience  a  very  lively  regret. 
I  had  found  on  my  arrival  at  Paris,  the  last  year,  the  English  edition  of 
your  beautiful  work.  The  address  alone  had  informed  me  that  it  was  a 
present  of  the  author,  and  I  have  never  known  how  it  arrived  to  me.  On 
my  return  here  I  wrote  you  on  the  22d  of  July,  to  express  to  you  my 
entire  gratitude,  the  interest  with  which  I  had  seen  you  cast  so  vivid  a 
light  over  so  interesting  a  period  of  the  history  of  our  Europe,  my  aston¬ 
ishment  at  your  having  attained  such  rich  sources  of  learning,  which  are  for 
the  most  part  interdicted  to  us  ;  my  admiration,  in  fine,  for  that  force  of 
character,  and,  without  doubt,  serenity  of  spirit,  which  had  assisted  you 
in  pursuing  your  noble  enterprise  under  the  weight  of  the  greatest  calam¬ 
ity  which  can  attend  a  man  in  his  organs,  and  especially  a  man  of  letters, 
—  the  loss  of  sight.  I  do  not  remember  what  circumstance  made  me 
think  that  you  lived  at  New  York,  and  it  is  thither  that  I  directed  my  let¬ 
ter  to  you,  but  I  took  care  to  add  to  your  name,  “  Author  of  the  History 
of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  and  I  represented  to  myself  that  your  fellow- 
countrymen  ought  to  be  sufficiently  proud  of  your  book  for  the  directors 
of  the  post  of  one  of  your  largest  cities  to  know  your  residence,  and  send 
you  my  letter.  It  is  more  than  a  year  since  that,  and  in  the  interval  you 
have  been  able  to  learn  how  firmly  established  is  the  success  of  your  work, 
and  my  suffrage  has  lost  the  little  worth  it  might  have  had.  I  am  morti¬ 
fied  nevertheless  to  have  been  obliged  to  appear  insensible  to  your  kind¬ 
ness . 

I  cannot  believe  that,  after  ten  years  so  usefully,  so  happily  employed, 
you  lay  aside  the  pen.  You  are  now  initiated  into  the  History  of  Spain, 
and  it  will  be  much  more  easy  to  continue  it  than  to  begin  it.  After  Rob¬ 
ertson,  after  Watson,  the  shadows  thicken  upon  the  Peninsula ;  will  you 
not  dissipate  them  ?  Will  you  not  teach  us  what  we  have  so  much  need 


168 


WILLIAM  niCKLING  PRESCOTT. 


of  knowing  f  Will  not  you  exhibit  this  decay  ever  more  rapid,  from  the 
midst  of  which  you  will  extract  such  important  lessons  ?  Consider  that 
the  more  you  have  given  to  the  public,  the  more  it  would  have  a  right  to 
demand  of  you.  Permit  me  to  join  my  voice  to  that  of  the  public  in  this 
demand,  as  I  have  done  in  applauding  what  you  have  already  done. 

Believe  me,  with  sentiments  of  the  highest  consideration. 

Sir, 

Your  obedient  servant, 

J.  C.  L.  dE  Sismondi. 

Ohenes,  prfes  Geneve,  Sept.  1,  1839. 

The  next  letter  referred  to,  which  is  one  from  the  author  of 
the  “  Histoire  de  la  Conquete  de  l’Angleterre  par  les  Nor- 
mands,”  himself  quite  blind,  is  very  interesting  on  all  ac¬ 
counts, 


FROM  M.  P.  AUGUSTIN  THIERRY. 

Monsieub, 

Pardonnez  moi  d’avoir  tarde  si  longtemps  a  vous  remercier  du  present 
que  vous  avez  eu  la  bonte  de  me  fairc.  Deux  causes  ont  contribue  a 
ee  retard :  d’abord  j’ai  voulu  lire  en  enticr  votre  bel  ouvrage,  et  les  aveu- 
gles  lisent  lentement ;  ensuite  j’ai  voulu  vous  envoyer,  comme  un  bien 
faible  retour,  deux  volumes  qui  etaient  sous  presse  ;  je  prends  la  liberte'  de 
vous  les  offrir.  Je  ne  saurais,  Monsieur,  vous  exprimer  tout  le  plaisir  que 
ma’a  fait  la  lecture  de  votre  “  Histoire  du  Regne  de  Ferdinand  et  d’lsa- 
belle.”  C’est  un  de  ces  livres  e'galement  remarquables  pour  le  fond  et  pour 
la  forme,  oil  se  montrent  a  la  fois  des  e'tudes  approfondies,  une  haute  raison 
et  un  grand  talent  d’ecrivain.  On  sent  que  vos  rccherches  ont  pdnetre  au 
fond  du  sujet,  que  vous  avez  tout  etudie  aux  sources,  les  origines  na- 
tionales  et  provinciales,  les  traditions,  les  mceurs,  les  dialectes,  la  legisla¬ 
tion,  les  coutumes  ;  vos  jugements  sur  la  politique  interieure  et  exte'rieure 
de  la  monarcliie  fSspagnole  au  15eme  siecle  sont  d’une  grande  fermete'  et 
d’une  complete  impartialite  ;  enfin  il  y  a  dans  le  recit  des  evenements 
cette  elarte  parfhite,  cette  gravite'  sans  effort  et  sobrement  colore'e,  qui  est 
selou  moi  le  vrai  style  de  l’histoire. 

Vous  avez  travaille  ce  sujet  avec  predilection,  pareeque  lh  se  trouvent  les 
prolegomhnes  de  l’histoire  du  nouveau  monde  ou  votre  pays  tient  la  pre¬ 
miere  place ;  contiuuez,  Monsieur,  a  lui  elever  le  monument  dont  vous 
venez  de  poser  la  base.  J’apprends  avec  peine  que  votre  vue  se  perd  de 
nouveau,  mais  je  suis  sans  inquietude  pour  vos  travaux  a  venir;  vous  ferez 
comme  moi,  vous  repeterez  le  devise  du  stoicien  Sustine,  abstine,  et  vous 
exereerez  les  yeux  de  l’ame  a  defaut  des  yeux  du  corps.  Croyez,  Mon¬ 
sieur,  a  ma  vive  sympathie  pour  une  destinee  qui  sous  ce  rapport  ressem- 
ble  a  la  mienne  et  agreez  avec  mes  remerciments  bien  sinceres  l’expression 
de  ma  haute  estime  et  de  mon  devouement. 

P.  Aug.  Thierkt. 

Pa-is,  le  17  Mars,  1840. 


LETTER  FROM  PATRICK  FRASER  TYTLER. 


169 


The  last  of  the  three  letters  from  writers  of  historical  repu¬ 
tation  is  one 

FROM  PATRICK  FRASER  TYTLER. 

34  Devonshire  Place  [London],  Monday,  Feb.  24,  1840. 

My  dear  Sir, 

I  trust  you  will  pardon  my  so  addressing  you,  but  it  is  impossible  for 
me  to  use  any  colder  terms,  in  acknowledging  your  letter  and  the  accom¬ 
panying  present  of  your  “  History  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.”  To  the 
high  merit  of  the  work,  and  to  the  place  it  has  now  confessedly  taken 
in  European  literature,  I  was  no  stranger ;  but  to  receive  it  as  a  mark 
of  your  approbation  and  regard,  and  to  be  addressed  from  the  New  World 
as  a  brother  laborer,  greatly  enhances  the  gift.  I  am  indeed  much  en¬ 
couraged  when  I  find  that  auything  I  have  done,  or  rather  attempted  to 
do,  has  given  you  pleasure,  because  I  can  sincerely  say  that  I  feel  the 
value  of  your  praise.  You  are  indeed  a  lenient  critic,  and  far  overrate  my 
labors,  but  it  wilt,  I  believe,  be  generally  found  that  they  who  know  best, 
and  have  most  successfully  overcome,  the  difficulties  of  historical  research 
are  the  readiest  to  think  kindly  of  the  efforts  of  a  fellow-laborer. 

I  trust  that  you  are  again  engaged  on  some  high  historical  subject,  and 
sincerely  hope  that  your  employing  an  amanuensis  is  not  indicative  of 
any  return  of  that  severe  calamity  which  you  so  cheerfully  and  magnani¬ 
mously  overcame  in  your  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.”  At  present  I  am 
intently  occupied  with  the  last  volume  of  my  “  History  of  Scotland,” 
which  embraces  the  painful  and  much-controverted  period  of  Mary.  I 
have  been  fortunate  in  recovering  many  letters  and  original  papers,  hitherto 
unknown,  and  hope  to  be  able  to  throw  some  new  light  on  the  obscurer 
parts  of  her  history ;  but  it  is  full  of  difficulty,  and  I  sometimes  despair. 
Such  as  it  is,  I  shall  beg  your  kind  acceptance  of  it  and  my  other  volumes 
as  soon  as  it  is  published. 

Believe  me,  dear  Sir, 

With  every  feeling  of  respect  and  regard, 

Most  truly  yours, 

Patrick  Fraser  Tytleb. 

Other  letters  followed,  of  which  one,  characteristic  of  its 
author,  may  be  here  inserted. 

FROM  SAMUEL  ROGERS,  ESQ. 

My  dear  Sir, 

How  ungrateful  must  you  have  thought  me  in  neglecting  so  long  to 
thank  you  for  your  invaluable  present ;  but,  strange  as  it  may  be,  I  really 
imagined  that  I  had  done  so  in  a  letter  to  our  excellent  friend  Mr.  Tiek- 
nor  ;  and,  if  I  have  not  expressed  what  I  felt,  I  have  not  felt  the  less  ;  for 
I  cannot  tell  you  the  delight  with  which  I  have  read  every  page  of  your 
8 


170 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


History,  —  a  history  so  happy  in  the  subject,  and,  what  is  now  a  thing 
almst  unknown,  so  well  studied  in  the  execution,  —  which,  wherever  it 
comes,  interests  old  and  young,  and  is  nowhere  more  esteemed  than  in  the 
cities  of  Spain.  Thinking  of  it  as  I  must,  it  can  be  no  small  consolation 
to  me  to  learn  that  in  what  I  have  done,  or  rather  attempted  to  do,  I  have 
given  the  author  any  pleasure,  early  or  late.  At  my  age,  much  as  I  may 
wish  for  it,  I  have  little  chance  of  seeing  you,  though  the  distance  lessens 
<ivery  day.  But  I  am  determined  to  live,  if  I  can,  till  you  have  finished 
what  I  understand  you  are  now  writing ;  a  noble  task,  and  every  way 
well  worthy  of  you. 

Pray  allow  me  to  subscribe  myself 

Your  much  obliged  and  sincere  friend, 

Samuel  Rogers. 

London,  March  30,  1840. 

The  next  letter  belongs  to  the  important  series  of  those  to 
the  Spanish  scholar  who  contributed  so  much  to  Mr.  Prescott’s 
success  in  preparing  his  “  History  of  Philip  the  Second,”  2  by 
collecting  the  larger  portion  of  the  materials  for  it. 

TO  DON  PASCUAL  DE  GAYANGOS. 

Boston,  June  20,  1840. 

My  dear  Sir, 

Our  friend  Tickuor  has  informed  me,  that  you  desired  him  to  say  to 
me,  that  there  are  some  documents  in  the  British  Museum  relating  to 
Mexico,  which  may  be  of  value  to  me.  I  am  extremely  obliged  and  flat¬ 
tered  by  the  friendly  interest  you  take  in  my  literary  labors,  and  I  shall  be 
glad  to  avail  myself  of  the  treasures  in  the  Museum.  By  a  letter,  dated 
April  4th,  which  you  must  have  received  ere  this,  I  mentioned  to  you,  that 
I  had  received  a  large  mass  of  manuscripts  from  Madrid.3  As  my  friend 
Mr.  Sparks,  with  whose  liigli  literary  reputation  you  are  probably  ac¬ 
quainted,  is  going  to  London,  where  he  will  pass  some  months,  I  send  by 
him  a  list  of  the  documents  which  I  possess  relating  to  Mexico  and  Peru, 
that  I  may  not  receive  duplicates  of  any  from  the  British  Museum.  If 
there  are  others  of  real  value  there  relating  to  the  Conquests  of  these  two 
kingdoms,  I  should  be  very  glad  to  have  copies  of  them,  and  Mr.  Sparks, 
whose  labors  will  require  him  to  be  much  in  the  British  Museum,  will  do 
whatever  you  may  advise  in  regard  to  having  the  copies  made,  and  will 
forward  them  to  me.  I  shall  be  very  glad  if  you  can  get  some  one  to 
select  and  copy  from  the  correspondence  of  Gonsalvo  and  the  Catholic 
Kings,  and  Mr.  Sparks  will  reimburse  you  for  the  charges  incurred  on  this 
account.  But  I  fear,  to  judge  from  the  specimen  you  have  sent  me,  it  wall 
not  be  easy  to  find  one  capable  of  reading  such  hieroglyphical  characters 
as  these  worthy  persons  made  use  of. 

I  am  glad  to  learn  from  Ticknor  that  you  are  on  the  eve  of  publishing 

1  See  ante ,  p.  105. 

•  This  letter  does  not  seem  to  have  been  preserved. 


MEMORANDA. 


171 


your  Spanish  History.  You  have  not  mentioned  the  nature  of  the  work, 
but  I  suppose  from  the  direction  of  your  studies,  as  far  as  I  understand 
them,  it  is  the  Spanish  Arabic  History.  If  so  it  is  a  splendid  theme,  which 
exhibits  the  mingled  influences  of  European  and  Asiatic  civilization,  won¬ 
derfully  picturesque  and  striking  to  the  imagination.  It  is  a  subject 
which,  to  be  properly  treated,  requires  one  who  has  wandered  over  the 
scenes  of  faded  grandeur,  and  stored  his  mind  with  the  rich  treasures  of 
the  original  Arabic.  Very  few  scholars  are  at  all  competent  to  the  subject, 
and  no  one  will  rejoice  more  than  myself  in  seeing  it  fall  into  your  hands. 
But  perhaps  I  have  misapprehended  your  work,  as  in  your  letter  to  Mr. 
Ticknor  you  merely  call  it  a  “History  of  Spain,”  and  I  shall  be  obliged 
by  your  telling  me,  when  you  do  me  the  favor  to  write,  what  is  the  precise 
nature  and  object  of  it.  Since  writing  to  you,  I  have  received  letters  from 
my  friend  Calderon,4  the  Spanish  Minister  at  Mexico,  communicating 
sundry  documents,  which  he  has  procured  for  me  there,  as  the  public 
'  offices  have  all  been  thrown  open  to  him.  This  is  very  good  luck.  But 
the  collections  I  had  previously  from  Spain  were  drawn,  in  part,  from  -he 
same  source. 


MEMORANDA. 

August  14,  1840.  — -  General  Miller,  a  very  gallant  and  intelligent  En¬ 
glishman,  who  has  filled  the  highest  posts  in  the  revolutionary  wars  of 
South  America,  has  been  at  Nahant  the  last  fortnight,  and  leaves  to-mor¬ 
row.  He  brought  letters  to  me,  and  I  have  derived  great  benefit  as  well 
as  pleasure  from  his  society.  He  has  given  me  much  information  respect¬ 
ing  military  matters,  and  has  looked  into  the  accounts  of  the  battles  in  my 
work,  and  pointed  out  a  few  inaccuracies.6 

August  15,  1840.  —  Monsieur  Thierry,  the  author  of  the  “  Conquest  of 
England  by  the  Normans,”  made  the  following  remark  in  a  letter  the  other 
day  to  Ticknor,  which  I  cannot  refuse  myself  the  pleasure  of  transcribing, 
as  it  comes  from  one  who  is  at  the  head  of  his  art. 

“  Si  je  pouvais  renouer  nos  conversations  d’il  y  a  deux  ans,  je  ne  vous 
parlerais  de  la  question  du  Canada,  morte  aujourd’hui,  mais  de  I’avenir 
litteraire  des  Etats  Unis,  qui  semblent  vouloir  prendre  en  ce  point,  comme 
en  tout  le  reste,  leur  revanche  sur  la  vieille  Angleterre.  J’ai  dit  a  votre 
ami  M.  Prescott,  tout  lc  plaisir  que  m’a  fait  son  livre.  C’est  un  ouvrage 
etudie  a  fond  sur  les  sources,  et  parfaitement  compose.  II  y  a  la  autant 
de  talent  de  style,  et  plus  de  liberte'  d’e'sprit,  que  chez  les  meilleurs  histo- 
rien6  Anglais.” 

4  See  ante,  p.  153. 

6  General  Miller  died  in  South  America  in  1861,  sixty-six  years  old.  An 
account  of  the  early  part  of  his  career  was  written  by  his  brother,  John  Mil¬ 
ler,  of  which  the  second  edition  was  published  at  London,  in  2  vols.,  8vo, 
1829.  It  is  an  interesting  book,  involving  a  history  of  much  that  was  impor¬ 
tant  in  the  affairs  of  South  America,  and  was  translated  into  Spanish  by 
General  Torrijos,  well  known  and  much  honored  in  the  war  of  the  Peninsula. 
1806-1814. 


172 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


TO  DON  FAS C UAL  DE  GAYANGOS. 

Boston,  Feb.  1,  1841 

My  dear  Friend, 

At  last  I  have  received  the  welcome  present  of  your  volume  on  the 
“  Spanish  Arabs,”  and  the  manuscripts  of  the  “Great  Captain.”  I  can¬ 
not  sufficiently  express  to  you  my  admiration  of  your  work,  published,  too, 
as  it  should  be,  in  so  splendid  a  form.  It  far  exceeds  the  expectations  I 
had  entertained,  which,  however,  were  great,  knowing  your  own  familiarity 
with  the  ground.6  During  the  few  days  it  has  been  in  my  possession,  I 
have  greedily  run  over  it,  as  well  as  my  eyes,  aided  by  those  of  another, 
would  allow,  and,  though  I  have  travelled  over  the  ground  before,  as  far 
as  Spanish  writers  have  cleared  the  way,  I  now  see  how  much  was  left  ob¬ 
scure  and  misunderstood,  and  perverted  by  the  best  of  them.  The  work 
you  have  selected  for  translation  is  most  happily  chosen,  not  only  from  its 
own  merits,  but  from  its  embodying  so  many  copious  extracts  from  other 
sources,  that  it  is  in  itself  a  sort  of  abridgment  or  encyclopaedia  of  the 
choicest  passages  relating  to  the  multifarious  topics  of  which  it  treats. 
These  certainly  are  of  great  interest  and  importance.  But  your  own  notes 
throw  a  light  over  the  whole,  which  can  only  come  from  a  life  of  previous 
study  in  this  department. 

I  wish  it  had  been  my  good  fortune  to  have  had  such  a  guide  in  my 
poor  attempts  among  the  remains  of  Arabian  Spain.  And  how  much  am 
I  gratiiied  to  find  my  own  labors,  such  as  they  are,  noticed  by  you  with 
the  beautiful  encomium,  which,  when  I  read  your  learned  and  accurate 
pages,  I  feel  I  am  poorly  entitled  to.  Your  book  must  certainly  supoa: 
sede  all  that  has  gone  before  it  on  this  topic,  the  learned  but  unsatisfac 
tory  —  I  did  not  know  how  unsatisfactory  —  labors  of  Conde,  Masdeu, 
Casiri,  Cardonne,  &c.  You  have  furnished  a  clear  picture  of  that  Asiatic 
portion  of  the  Peninsular  history  without  which  the  European  cannot  be 
rightly  interpreted  or  understood.  I,  of  course,  have  had  time  only  to 
glance  rapidly  through  these  pages,  and  very  imperfectly.  I  shall  return 
to  them  with  more  deliberation,  when  I  come  to  a  good  resting-place  in 
my  own  narrative.  I  am  just  bringing  my  account  of  the  state  of  the 
Aztec  civilization  to  a  close ;  the  most  perplexing  and  thorny  part  of  my 
own  subject,  which  has  cost  me  two  years’  labor.  But  I  have  wished  to 
do  it  as  thoroughly  as  I  could,  and  1  work  much  slower  than  you  do,  and, 
T  suspect,  much  less  industriously. 


From  about  this  time  he  occasionally  wrote  letters  to  my 
eldest  daughter,  and  sent  them  to  her  just  as  they  came  from 
his  noctograph,  without  being  copied.  Some  of  them  are  in¬ 
serted,  to  show  how  pleasantly  he  accommodated  himself  to  the 
tastes  and  humors  of  a  young  person. 

6  “  History  of  the  Mohammedan  Dynasties  in  Spain,  from  the  Arabic  of  Al- 
Makkari,  translated  by  Fascual  de  Gayangos,”  4to,  Vol.  I.,  London,  1840; 
Vol.  II.,  1843;  published  by  the  “  Oriental  Translation  Fund.” 


LETTERS  TO  MISS  TICKNOR. 


17a 


TO  MISS  TICKNOR. 

Oct.  1,  1840. 

My  dear  Anjka,7 

You  said  you  should  like  to  try  to  make  out  my  writing  with  my  nocto- 
graph;  so  I  will  give  you  a  specimen  of  it,  and  believe,  if  you  can  deci¬ 
pher  it,  you  will  be  qualified  to  read  Egyptian  papyri  or  the  monuments 
of  Palmyra.  When  in  Europe,  some  twenty  years  since,  I  met  with  this 
apparatus,  and  have  used  it  ever  since,  by  which  my  eyes  have  been 
spared,  and  those  of  others  severely  taxed.  I  hope  you  will  never  be  re¬ 
duced  to  so  poor  a  substitute  for  pen  and  ink.  But  if  you  are,  I  hope  you 
will  find  as  obliging  an  amanuensis  as  you  have  been  to  me  sometimes. 

But  to  change  the  subject,  and  take  up  one  which  we  were  speculating 
upon  this  morning  at  the  breakfast  table,  —  Lord  Byron.  I  tiiink  one  is 
very  apt  to  talk  extravagantly  of  his  poetry ;  for  it  is  the  poetry  of  pas¬ 
sion,  and  carries  away  the  sober  judgment.  It  defies  criticism  from  its 
very  nature,  being  lawless,  independent  of  all  rules,  sometimes  of  gram¬ 
mar,  and  even  of  common  sense.  When  he  means  to  be  strong,  he  is 
often  affected,  violent,  morbid  ;  if  striking,  is  very  obscure,  from  dealing 
more  in  impressions  than  ideas.  And  partly  from  affectation,  I  suppose, 
partly  from  want  of  principle,  and  partly  from  the  ennui  and  disgust  occa¬ 
sioned  by  long  self-indulgence  and  by  naturally  violent  passions,  he  is  led 
into  extravagances  which  outrage  the  reader,  offend  the  taste,  and  lead 
many  persons  of  excellent  principles  and  critical  discernment  to  condemn 
him,  both  on  the  ground  of  moral  and  literary  pretensions.  This  is  true, 
the  more  the  pity.  But  then  there  is,  with  all  this  smoke  and  fustian,  a 
deep  sensibility  to  the  sublime  and  beautiful  in  nature,  a  wonderful  melody, 
or  rather  harmony,  of  language,  consisting,  not  in  an  unbroken  flow  of 
versification,  like  Pope  or  Campbell,  but  in  a  variety,  —  the  variety  of 
nature,  —  in  which  startling  ruggeduess  is  relieved  by  soft  and  cultivated 
graces.  As  he  has  no  narrative  hardly  in  “  Childe  Harold,”  he  would  be 
very  tiresome,  if  it  were  not  for  this  veiy  variety  of  manner,  so  that  what 
is  a  fault  in  itself  produces  a  beautiful  effect  taken  as  a  whole.  He  has 
great  attractions,  and,  pouring  out  his  soul  unreservedly,  turns  up  the 
depths  of  feeling  which  even  those  who  acknowledge  the  truth  of  it  would 
shrink  from  expressing  themselves.  —  “  There  is  a  mess  for  you,”  as 

D - says.  When  you  have  made  this  out,  burn  it,  as  a  lady  would  say 

Addio  ! 


TO  MISS  TICKNOR. 

Pepperell,  Oct.  25,  1840. 

My  dear  Anika, 

You  are  so  clever  at  hieroglyphics  that  I  shall  send  you  a  little  more  of 
them  to  unravel  at  your  leisure,  and  in  time  you  may  be  qualified  to 
make  out  a  mummy  wrapper  or  an  obelisk  inscription  as  well  as  Cham- 
pollion  or  Dr.  Young. 

1  A  name  he  gave  to  her  in  order  to  distinguish  her  from  her  mother,  whom 
he  coiumonlv  called  by  her  first  name,  which  was  also  Anna. 


174 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


We  were  glad  to  learn  you  had  reached  the  Yankee  Athens  in  safety 
You  set  out  in  a  true  wind  from  “  The  Horn,”  8  — a  cornucopia  certainly 
you  had  of  it.  You  left  us  all  very  sad  and  melancholic.  The  traveller 
on  these  occasions  finds  new  scenes  to  divert  him.  But  they  who  are  left 
behind  see  only  the  deserted  halls,  the  vacant  place  at  the  board,  which 
was  lighted  by  the  bright  countenance  of  a  friend.  Absence  seems  to  be 
a  negative  thing,  but  there  is  nothing  so  positive,  nothing  which  touches 
as  more  sensibly  than  the  absence  of  the  faces  we  love  from  the  seats  in 
which  we  have  been  used  to  see  them.  The  traveller  has  always  the  best 
of  the  bargain  on  these  occasions,  therefore. 

Well,  we  shall  soon  be  in  the  gay  metropolis  with  you.  We  have  had 
many  warnings  to  depart.  The  leaves  have  taken  their  leave,  one  after 
another.  The  summer  weather  is  quite  spent,  and  almost  the  autumnal. 
The  bright  colors  have  faded,  the  naked  trees  stare  around  wildly,  and,  as 
the  cold  wind  whistles  through  them,  the  shrivelled  leaves  that  still  hold 
out  rattle  like  the  bones  of  a  felon  hung  in  chains.  The  autumn  seems 
to  be  dying,  and  wants  only  the  cold  winding-sheet  of  winter  to  close  the 
scene.  In  fact,  she  is  getting  some  shreds  of  this  winding-sheet  before 
the  time,  for,  while  I  am  writing,  the  snow-flakes  are  dancing  before  the 
window.  There’s  a  mess  of  romance  for  you,  all  done  up  in  hiero¬ 
glyphics.  When  you  read  Mrs.  Radcliffe,  or  Miss  Porter,  or  Miss - 

any  other  mumbler  of  scenery  and  sentiment,  you  ’ll  find  it  all  there.  Your 

papa  talks  of  Mr.  T - ’s  sending  me  his  book.  Ask  him  if  he  has  not 

mixed  up  Mr.  T - with  Mr.  D.  T - ,  very  different  men,  I  wot.  I 

am  glad  he  has  seen  General  Miller.  He  is  worth  a  wilderness  of - , 

as  Shakespeare  says. 

Tell  your  papa  and  mamma,  their  maxims  of  education  have  not  fallen 
on  deaf  ears,  nor  a  stony  heart.  But  I  believe  this  will  be  quite  enough 
for  once.  I  must  begin  with  small  doses.  But  it  is  such  a  comfort  to 
find  any  who  can  read  me  without  my  eternal  amanuensis  at  my  elbows, 
where,  to-day  being  Sunday,  he  is  not  now.  Adieu,  dear  Anika.  Do 
not  forget  Amory  and  E.’s  love  to  Lizzy,  and  mine  to  your  honored 
parents. 

I  hope  your  respected  father  gets  on  yet  without  his  wig,  ear-trumpet, 
and  glasses  !  By  the  by,  my  mother  lost  her  spectacles  yesterday.  All 
the  town  has  been  ransacked  for  them  in  vain.  They  were  a  gold  pair.  — 
Do  you  think  your  father  carried  them  off  ? 

Once  more  addio  l 

Your  affectionate  uncle,0 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 

•  The  name  very  often  given  on  the  southern  coast  of  Massachusetts  to 
“  Cape  Horn,”  which  so  many  of  the  people  of  that  part  of  the  country  double 
in  search  of  whales.  I  spent  two  or  three  summers  there  with  my  family;  and 
Mr.  Prescott,  when  he  visited  us,  used  to  be  much  amused  with  the  familiar 
manner  in  which  that  very  remote  part  of  the  world  was  spoken  of,  as  if  it 
were  some  small  cape  in  the  neighborhood.  The  letter  in  the  text  was  writ¬ 
ten  immediately  after  we  had  returned  to  Boston  from  a  visit  to  Pepperell. 

9  There  was  no  blood  relationship  between  us,  but  the  children  on  both 
sides  were  always  accustomed  to  speak  of  us  as  “uncles”  and  “aunts,” 
while  all  round  their  elders  accepted  the  designation  as  a  pleasant  mark  of 
affection. 


LETTER  TO  DON  PASCUAL  DE  GAYANGOS. 


175 


TO  DON  PASCUAL  DE  GAYANGOS. 

Boston,  Feb.  28,  1841. 

....  I  have  run  into  a  most  interminable  length  of  prosing,  and 
could  not  do  worse  if  I  were  writing  to  an  absolute  far  niente,  instead  of 
one  with  whom  minutes  are  gold-dust.  You  would  smile  if  you  were  to 
see  how  I  am  writing  with  a  writing-ease  made  for  the  blind,  in  which  1 
do  not  see  a  word  of  what  I  write;  furnishing  a  scrawl  as  illegible  as 
Gonsalvo’s 10  for  my  secretary  to  transcribe.  Adieu !  my  dear  friend. 
Pray  accept  my  sincere  congratulations  on  the  happy  addition  to  your 
family  circle.  I  can  sympathize  with  you,  counting  two  boys  and  a  girl, 
the  youngest  of  whom  is  ten  years  old.  I  should  like  to  present  them  to 
you,  but  still  better  to  take  you  by  the  hand  myself.  And,  now  that 
steam  has  annihilated  time  and  space,  that  may  come  to  pass. 

I  have  received  a  letter  from  the  Marquis  Gino  Capponi  of  Florence 
this  morning,  informing  me  that  nearly  half  my  work  is  translated  into 
the  language  of  Dante  and  Petrarch,  and  that  the  remainder  would  bo 
completed  before  long  under  his  supervision.  You  may  know  his  reputa¬ 
tion  as  a  scholar,  which  is  high  in  Italy.11 

MEMORANDA. 

March  21,  1841.  —  Am  fairly  now  engaged,  though  not  with  thorough 
industry,  in  beating  the  bushes  for  the  narrative  [of  the  Conquest  of  Mex¬ 
ico]. —  Last  week  have  been  considering  the  best  modus  operandi,  and  been 
looking  over  some  celebrated  narratives  of  individual  enterprises,  as  Vol¬ 
taire’s  “  Charles  XII.”  and  Livy’s  Expedition  of  Hannibal,  lib.  22,  23,  — 
the  last  a  masterly  story,  in  which  the  interest,  though  suspended  by 
necessary  digression,  —  more  necessary  in  a  general  history,  —  is  never 
broken.  The  historian,  the  greatest  of  painters,  shows  his  talent  in  pic¬ 
tures  of  natural  scenery,  the  horrors  of  the  Alps  and  Apennines,  as  well 
as  in  the  delineation  of  passions.  Voltaire’s  volume,  so  popular,  is  very 
inferior  in  literary  merit.  It  bears  much  resemblance  to  the  gossiping 

10  Nothing  can  well  be  more  difficult  to  decipher  than  the  handwriting  ot 
the  Great  Captain.  I  have  one  of  his  autograph  letters,  but  am  nearly  igno¬ 
rant  of  its  contents. 

II  A  distinguished  scholar,  statesman,  and  man ;  the  head  of  a  family 
mentioned  by  Dante,  and  great  before  Dante’s  time,  as  well  as  in  many 
generations  since.  The  present  Marquis  (1862)  is  now  entirely  blind,  and 
was  nearly  so  when  he  first  interested  himself  in  the  translation  of  “Ferdi¬ 
nand  and  Isabella”;  but  he  has  never  ceased  to  maintain  a  high  place  in  the 
affairs  of  his  country,  as  well  as  in  the  respect  of  his  countrymen.  He  was 
at  one  time  head  of  the  government  of  Tuscany,  and,  notwithstanding  his 
blindness,  was  President  of  the  Council  of  Advice  in  State  Affairs,  during 
the  anxious  period  of  the  transition  of  power  to  the  Kingdom  of  Italy.  Their 
common  infirmity  caused  a  great  sympathy  between  the  Marquis  Capponi 
a  id  Mr.  Prescott. 


176 


WILLIAM  IIICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


memoir-writing  of  the  nation,  with  little  regard  to  historic  dignity  ;  not 
much  method,  or  apparently  previous  digestion  of  his  subject.  It  has, 
however,  the  great  requisite,  in  a  work  meant  to  be  popular,  that  of  in¬ 
terest.  This  is  maintained  by  the  studious  exhibition  of  Charles’s  remark¬ 
able  character,  with  all  its  petty  infirmities  and  crazy  peculiarities.  Tho 
easy,  careless  arrangement  of  the  narrative  gives  it  a  grace  veiy  taking. 
The  style,  like  Livy’s  (magis  par  quam  similis),  easy  and  natural,  gives 
additional  charm.  After  all,  Chambers’s  “  History  of  the  Rebellion  of 
1745”  is  about  as  well-written,  lively,  and  agreeable  a  narrative  of  an 
interesting  event,  and  is  managed  altogether  as  skilfully,  as  any  that  I 
remember. 

Have  been  looking  over  Irving’s  “  Columbus  ”  also  ;  a  beautiful  com¬ 
position,  but  fatiguing,  as  a  whole,  to  the  reader.  Why  1  The  fault  is 
partly  in  the  subject,  partly  in  the  manner  of  treating  it.  The  discovery 
of  a  new  world  —  the  result  of  calculation  and  an  energy  that  rose  above 
difficulties  that  would  have  daunted  a  common  mind  —  is  a  magnificent 
theme  in  itself,  full  of  sublimity  and  interest.  But  it  terminates  with  the 
discovery  ;  and  unfortunately  this  is  made  before  half  of  the  first  volume 
is  disposed  of.  All  after  that  event  is  made  up  of  little  details,  the  sailing 
from  one  petty  island  to  another,  all  inhabited  by  savages,  and  having 
the  same  general  character.  Nothing  can  be  more  monotonous,  and,  of 
course,  more  likely  tc  involve  the  writer  in  barren  repetition.  The  chief 
interest  that  attaches  to  the  rest  of  the  story  is  derived  from  the  navigator’s 
own  personal  misfortunes,  and  these  are  not  exciting  enough  to  create  a 
deep  or  strong  sensation.  Irving  should  have  abridged  this  part  of  his 
story,  and,  instead  of  four  volumes,  have  brought  it  into  two.  Posterity 
may  do  this  for  him.  But  it  is  better  for  an  author  to  do  his  own  work 
himself. 

The  Conquest  of  Mexico,  though  very  inferior  in  the  leading  idea  which 
forms  its  basis  to  the  story  of  Columbus,  is,  on  the  whole,  a  far  better  sub¬ 
ject,  since  the  event  is  sufficiently  grand,  and,  as  the  catastrophe  is  deferred, 
the  interest  is  kept  up  through  the  whole.  Indeed,  the  perilous  adventures 
and  crosses  with  which  tho  enterprise  is  attended,  the  desperate  chances  and 
reverses  and  unexpected  vicissitudes,  all  serve  to  keep  the  interest  alive. 
On  my  plan,  I  go  on  with  Cortes  to  his  death.  But  I  must  take  care  not 
to  make  this  tail-piece  too  long.  A  hundred  pages  will  be  quite  enough. 


TO  MISS  TICKNOR. 

Fitful  Head  [Nahant],  July  25,  1841. 

Mr  dear  Anika, 

What  a  nice  quiet  time  you  have  had  of  it  for  reading  or  sleeping,  or 
anything  else  that  is  rational.  Has  the  spirit  of  improvement  beset  you  in 
your  solitude,  and  carried  you  through  as  much  metaphysics  and  Spanish 
as  it  has  your  respected  parents  ?  or  have  you  been  meandering  among 
romances  and  peetieals  ?  You  have  read  Irving’s  “  Memoirs  of  Miss  Da¬ 
vidson,”  I  believe.  Did  you  ever  meet  with  any  novel  half  so  touching  ? 
It  is  the  most  painful  book  I  ever  listened  to.  I  hear  it  from  the  children, 
and  we  all  cry  over  it  together.  What  a  little  flower  of  Paradise  !  Do 


VISIT  TO  WOOD’S  HOLE. 


177 


you  remember  Malherbe’s  beautiful  lines,  —  which  I  happen  just  now  not 
to, — 

“  Et  comme  une  rose  elle  a  vecu 
L’espace  d’uu  matin,”  — 

fend  Young’s,  no  less  beautiful,  — 

“  She  sparkled,  was  exhaled,  and  went  to  heaven  "  ? 

Her  whole  life  was  one  dying  day,  — ■  one  long  heart-break.  How  fitting 
that  her  beautiful  character  should  he  embalmed  in  the  delicate  composi¬ 
tion  of  Irving !  Head  over  her  farewell  to  Ruremont,  if  you  forget  it 
It  is  really  a  sad  subject. 

Well,  we  descend  on  “  The  Hole”  on  Tuesday  next.12  William  Pres¬ 
cott  1st,  2d,  and  3d  will  make  the  party.  Three  persons  and  one  name,  — 
just  the  opposite  of  my  friends  the  Spaniards,  who  each  have  a  dozen 
names  at  least.  On  Monday,  the  2d  of  August,  we  embark  on  the  great 
Providence  Railroad ;  reach  New  Bedford,  we  hope,  that  evening ;  pass 
the  night  in  that  great  commercial  emporium  of  the  spermaceti ;  and  the 
next  morning  by  noon  shall  embrace  the  dear  “  Toads  in  the  Hole.”  And 
as  we  can’t  get  away,  and  you  won’t  turn  us  out  the  while,  we  shall  be¬ 
siege  you  till  Friday ;  and,  if  you  are  tired  of  us,  you  can  send  us  to  see 
Mr.  Swain,13  or  to  the  ancient  city  of  Nantucket ;  not  a  literary  empo¬ 
rium,  though  I  believe  it  smells  of  the  lamp  pretty  strong.  I  feel  quite  in 
the  trim  of  a  little  vagabondizing,  having  fairly  worked  myself  down. 
. Indeed,  my  father  and  I  half  arranged  a  little  journey  before  visit¬ 
ing  you,  but  I  showed  the  white  feather,  as  usual.  I  mean  to  date  health 
and  spirits  and  renovated  industry  from  the  visit  to  “  Wood’s  Hole.” 

Don’t  you  think  our  traveller,  Palenque  Stephens,  would  smile  at  our 
great  preparations  in  the  travelling  line  1  I  was  in  town  yesterday,  and 
saw  a  picture  which  came  from  Mexico,  a  full-length  of  Cortes,  in  armor 
the  upper  part  of  his  body ;  his  nether  extremities  in  a  sort  of  stockinet, 
like  the  old  cavaliers  of  the  sixteenth  century,  —  a  very  striking  and 
picturesque  costume  superior  to  my  Spanish  painting  in  execution.  But 
it  is  too  large,  and  carries  an  acre  of  canvas,  seven  feet  by  four  and  a  half. 
I  called  a  council  of  war  as  to  the  expediency  of  cutting  his  feet  off,  but 
Mr.  Polsom  came  in  at  the  moment,  and  said  I  never  should  forgive 
myself ;  so  I  have  concluded  to  frame  him,  legs  and  all.  But  my  wife 
thinks  I  shall  have  to  serve  him  like  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield’s  great  family 
picture,  he  is  so  out  of  all  compass. 

Well,  here  I  am,  dear  Anika,  at  the  end  of  my  letter.  Let  us  know 
if  our  arrangements  can  be  altered  for  the  better,  —  i.  e.  if  you  are  to  be 
without  company.  Love  to  your  father  and  mother.  All  of  us  send 
much  love  to  you  and  them. 

Believe  me,  most  truly, 

Your  affectionate  uncle, 

Wm.  H.  Peescott. 

14  We  were  then  passing  the  summer  at  “  Wood’s  Hole,”  on  the  southern 
ihoi  e  of  Massachusetts. 

1*  On  the  adjacent  island  of  Naushon,  where  Mr.  Swain  lived. 

8* 


I. 


178 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


MEMORANDA. 

March  22,  1842.  —  My  good  friends  the  Ticknors  received  this  last 
week  a  letter  from  Miss  Edgeworth,  containing  a  full  critique  on  “  Ferdi¬ 
nand  and  Isabella,”  which  she  had  just  been  reading.  She  condemns  my 
parallel  of  the  English  and  Castilian  queens,  and  also  my  closing  chapter ; 
the  former  as  not  satisfactory  and  full  enough,  and  rather  feeble ;  the  latter 
as  superfluous.  I  will  quote  two  remarks  of  another  kind  :  “  It  is  of  great 
consequence  both  to  the  public  and  private  class  of  readers,  and  he  will 
surely  have  readers  of  all  classes,  from  the  cottage  and  the  manufactory  to 
the  archbishopric  and  the  throne  in  England,  and  from  Papal  jurisdiction 
to  the  Russian  Czar  and  the  Patriarch  of  the  Greek  Church.  The  work  will 
last,”  &c.  If  Jupiter  grants  me  half  the  prediction,  I  shall  be  pretty  well 
off  for  readers.  The  other  sentence  is  towards  the  end  of  the  critique  : 
“  Otherwise  an  individual  ought  not  to  expect  that  a  single  voice  should 
be  heard  amidst  the  acclaim  of  universal  praise  with  which  Ids  work  has 
been  greeted  in  Europe.”  —  This  from  Miss  Edgeworth. 

I  never  worked  for  the  dirty  lucre.  Am  I  not  right  in  treasuring  up 
Buch  golden  opinions  from  such  a  source  ? 

TO  DON  PASCUAL  DE  GAYANGOS. 

Boston,  March  27,  1842. 

. 1  received  from  Mr.  Everett  by  this  steamer  copies  of  a  corre¬ 
spondence  of  the  Tuscan  ambassadors  at  Philip’s  court,  giving  some  very 
interesting  details  of  the  proceedings,  and  all  in  favor  of  the  monarch.14  I 
wrote  you  to  see  Mr.  Everett,15  who  will,  I  am  sure,  take  pleasure  in  com¬ 
municating  with  you.  I  have  written  to  him  by  this  packet,  that  I  have 
asked  you  to  call  on  him,  as  he  was  out  when  you  went  before.  He  is 
much  occupied  with  perplexing  affairs,  but  I  have  never  found  him  too 
much  so  for  his  friends.  Should  you  find  any  impediment  to  the  exami¬ 
nation  in  the  State  Office,  he  will  use  his  influence  in  your  favor,  I  am 
certain.  And  I  think  you  had  better  get  a  letter  from  him  to  Mignet  or 
Guizot.  Lord  Morpeth,  who  was  here  this  winter,  offered  me  his  services 
to  obtain  anything  I  desired.  But  that  will  be  too  late  for  you,  as  he  will 
not  return  till  summer.  But  if  there  remains  anything  to  be  done  then, 
let  me  know,  and  I  can  get  at  it  through  him. 


TO  DON  PASCUAL  DE  GAYANGOS. 


Boston,  May  30, 1842. 

Mr  dear  Friend, 

I  have  not  written  by  the  last  packets,  having  nothing  particular  to  say. 
I  have  received  yours  of  the  2d  of  April,  and  am  glad  you  have  seen  Mr. 


M  On  the  death  of  Don  Carlos.  He  had  now,  as  we  have  seen,  been  some 
time  collecting  materials  for  his  History  of  Philip  the  Second. 

15  Then  Minister  of  the  United  States  in  London.  See  post,  for  Mr.  Pres¬ 
cott’s  correspondence  with  him. 


LETTER  FROM  MR.  FORD. 


179 


Everett,  and  are  pleased  with  him.  I  am  sure  he  will  give  you  any  facility 
in  his  power  for  getting  access  to  the  French  depositories.  I  should  sup¬ 
pose  a  line  from  him  to  Mignet  would  be  serviceable. 

You  have  found  the  British  Museum  a  much  richer  field  than  you  had 
first  anticipated,  and  the  length  of  your  stay  in  London,  fortunately  for 
me,  will  enable  you  to  reap  the  harvest.  You  mention  one  or  two  chroni¬ 
cles  or  memoirs  which  you  have  met  with  there.  I  have  always  found  a 
good,  gossiping  chronicle  or  memoir  the  best  and  most  fruitful  material  for 
the  historian.  Official  documents,  though  valuable  on  other  accounts,  con¬ 
tain  no  private  relations  ;  nothing,  in  short,  but  what  was  meant  for  the  pub¬ 
lic  eye.  Even  letters  of  business  are  very  apt  to  be  cold  and  general.  But 
a  private  correspondence  like  Peter  Martyr’s,  or  a  chronicle  like  Pulgar’s, 
or  Bernal  Diaz’s,  or  Bernaldez’s,  is  a  jewel  of  inestimable  price.  There  is 
nothing  so  serviceable  to  the  painter  of  men  and  manners  of  a  distant  age. 
Pray  get  hold  of  such  in  manuscript  or  in  print. 

I  hope  you  will  get  for  me  whatever  printed  books  fall  in  your  way, 
useful  for  a  history  of  that  reign.  And  I  shall  be  much  obliged  by  your 
making  out  a  list  of  all  such  as  may  be  desirable  for  me  hereafter  to  get, 
as  you  promise  to  do.  I  can  then  pick  them  up  at  my  leisure.  I  find 
some  referred  to  in  Ferreras,  and  others  in  Nic.  Antonio.  I  am  truly  glad 
you  are  going  to  Madrid  soon,  or  in  the  course  of  a  couple  of  years.  I 
shall  be  most  happy  to  leave  the  collection  then  all  in  your  hands,  and, 
while  Irving  is  there,  I  am  sure  you  can  count  on  his  services,  if  they  can 
be  worth  anything  to  you  to  get  access  to  any  archives  which  may  be 
under  the  control  of  the  government.  He  has  assured  me  of  his  cordial 
desire  to  promote  my  views  and  Ticknor’s  in  our  researches.  You  will 
bear  in  mind,  in  the  copying,  to  get  it  done  in  as  legible  a  hand  as  possi¬ 
ble.  I  don’t  care  for  the  beauty  of  it,  so  it  is  legible.  I  suppose  in  Paris, 
and  I  know  in  Madrid,  the  expense  will  be  greatly  lightened. 

I  am  very  much  obliged  by  your  great  kindness  in  sending  me  your 
own  collection  of  manuscripts.  They  have  all  reached  me  safely,  as  I 
desired  Mr.  Rich  to  inform  you.  They  are  a  most  curious  and  valuable 
collection  to  the  historian  of  the  period.  But  Charles  V.  has  been  handled 
by  Robertson,  and  I  have  not  the  courage  nor  the  vanity  to  tread  where 
he  has  gone  before.  I  do  not  think  the  history  of  his  period  will  make  as 
good  a  pendant  to  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  ”  as  Philip  the  Second  will. 
Philip’s  reign  is  the  first  step  towards  the  decline,  as  Isabella’s  was  the 
last  step  in  the  rise,  of  the  Spanish  monarchy.  I  hope  to  treat  this  great 
theme  in  all  its  relations,  literary,  social,  and  political.  It  will  be  a  ten 
years’  work.  Da,  Jupiter,  annos. 


FROM  RICHARD  FORD,  ESQ. 

Hbvitee,  near  Exeter,  June  5,  1842. 

My  deak  Sir, 

Permit  me  to  offer  you  my  very  best  thanks  for  the  copy  of  your  last 
edition  of  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  which  you  have  been  so  kind  as  to 
direct  Mr.  Bentley  to  send  to  me.  I  have  lived  so  long  in  Spain,  and 
particularly  in  the  Alhambra,  that  the  work  possesses  for  me  a  more  than 


180 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


ordinary  interest,  great  as  is  that  which  it  has  inspired  in  readers  of  all 
countries.  Indeed,  it  is  a  History  of  which  America,  and,  if  you  will 
allow  me  to  say  so,  England,  has  every  reason  to  be  most  proud,  and  of 
which  it  may  be  justly  said,  as  was  said  of  Gibbon’s,  that,  although  the 
first  to  grapple  with  a  vast  subject,  it  has  left  no  room  for  any  future 
attempt. 

I  hope  that,  having  now  fleshed  your  pen,  you  will  soon  resume  it,  — 
non  in  rductantes  dracones.  Our  mutual  friend  Pascual  de  Gayangos  has 
often  suggested,  as  an  almost  virgin  subject,  the  life  of  Philip  the  Second. 
The  poor  performance  of  Watson  is  beneath  notice.  What  a  new  and 
noble  field  for  you,  what  an  object  for  a  tour  to  Europe  to  inspect  the  rich 
archi  res  of  England,  Paris,  and  Simancas,  where,  as  I  can  tell  you  from 
personal  inspection,  the  state  papers,  interlined  by  Philip  himself,  are  most 
various  and  numerous . 


FROM  P.  F.  TYTLER,  ESQ. 

London,  34  Devonshire  Place,  June  6,  1842. 

My  dear  Sir, 

I  entreat  your  kind  acceptance  of  a  copy  of  the  second  edition  of  the 
“  History  of  Scotland.”  A  single  additional  volume — the  ninth  —  will 
complete  the  work,  bringing  it  down  to  the  union  of  the  crowns  in  1603, 
and  I  then  purpose,  if  God  grant  me  health,  to  write  an  introductory  dis¬ 
sertation  on  the  more  ancient  history  of  Scotland  in  another  volume.  In 
the  mean  time,  although  still  an  unfinished  work,  I  hope  you  will  place 
it  in  your  library  as  a  testimony,  slight  indeed,  but  most  sincere,  of  the 
pleasure  and  instruction  your  excellent  History  has  given  me,  and,  I  may 
add,  my  family.  I  feel,  too,  that  in  the  love  of  history,  for  its  own  sake, 
there  is  a  common  and  congenial  tie,  which,  although  so  far  separated, 
binds  us  together,  and  that  one  who  has,  like  you,  so  successfully  over¬ 
come  the  difficulties  of  history,  will  make  the  readiest  allowance  for  the 
errors  of  a  brother. 

I  met  some  time  ago  at  Lady  Holland’s  a  Spanish  gentleman,19  who  in¬ 
formed  me  of  your  having  wished  him  to  examine  for  you  the  manuscripts 
in  the  State  Paper  Office  about  the  time  of  Philip  and  Mary.  When 
writing,  or  rather  making  collections  for,  my  “  Letters  during  the  Reigns 
of  Edward  the  Sixth  and  Mary,”  I  made  a  good  many  transcripts  con¬ 
nected  with  the  history  of  Philip  and  Mary,  which,  if  they  could  be  of  tha 
least  service  to  you,  are  much  at  your  disposal. 

Believe  me,  dear  Sir, 

With  sincere  regard  and  respect, 

Very  truly  yours, 

Patrick  Fraser  Tytlesi. 


M  Don  Pascual  de  Gayangos. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


1839  -  1844. 


Materials  for  the  “Conquest  of  Mexico.” — Imperfect  Industry. 
—  .improved  State  of  the  Eye.  —  Begins  to  write.  —  Difficul¬ 
ties.  —  Thoroughness.  —  Interruptions.  —  Lord  Morpeth.  —  Visits 
to  New  York  and  Lebanon  Springs.  —  “Conquest  of  Mexico” 
finished. —  Sale  of  IUght  to  publish  —  Illness  of  his  Father. — 
Partial  Kecovery.  —  “  Conquest  of  Mexico  ”  published.  —  Its 
Success.  —  Reviews  of  it.  —  Letters  to  Mr.  Lyell  and  Don  Pas- 
CUAL  DE  GaYANGOS.  —  FROM  Mk.  GaI, LATIN.  —  To  LORD  MORPETH 
and  to  Gayangos.  —  Fkom  Mr.  Hallam  and  Mr.  Everett.  —  Mem¬ 
oranda.  —  Letter  from  Lord  Morpeth.  —  Letters  to  Dean  Mil- 
man  and  Mr.  J.  C.  Hamilton.  —  Letters  from  Mr.  Tytlke  and 
Dean  Milman. 


ROM  the  letter  to  Mr.  Irving  at  the  beginning  of  the  last 


JO  chapter,  we  have  seen  that  Mr.  Prescott’s  earlier  appre¬ 
hension  about  the  failure  of  his  application  at  Madrid  for  man¬ 
uscripts  concerning  the  “  Conquest  of  Mexico  ”  was  not  well 
founded.  He  had  excellent  friends  to  assist  him,  and  they  had 
succeeded.  The  chief  of  them  were  Don  Angel  Calderon,  Mr. 
A.  H.  Everett,  then  our  Minister  in  Spain,  and  Mr.  Middleton, 
his  Secretary  of  Legation,  who  had  been  Mr.  Prescott’s  class¬ 
mate  and  college  chum,  —  all  of  whom  were  earnest  and  help¬ 
ful,  —  to  say  nothing  of  Dr.  Lembke,  who  was  in  his  service 
for  a  considerable  time,  collecting  manuscripts,  and  was  both 
intelligent  and  efficient.  Mr.  Prescott,  therefore,  no  longer 
feared  that  he  should  fail  to  obtain  all  he  could  reasonably 
expect.  But  his  industry,  which  he  thought  had  needed  only 
this  stimulus,  did  not  come  with  the  promise  of  abundant  ma¬ 
terials  for  its  exercise.  During  three  months  he  did  very 
little,  and  records  his  regrets  more  than  once  in  terms  not  to 
be  mistaken. 

In  May,  1839,  however,  he  was  better  satisfied  with  himself 
than  he  had  been  for  at  least  two  years.  “  I  have  begun,”  he 
says,  “  to  lay  my  bones  to  the  work  in  good  earnest.  The  last 


182 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


week  I  have  read  a  variety  of  authors,  —  i.  e.  looked  into 
them,  affording  illustration,  in  some  way  or  other,  of  the 
Mexican  subject.  Yesterday  I  completed  my  forty-third  birth 
and  my  nineteenth  wedding  day.  If  they  do  not  prove  happy 
days  I'or  me,  it  is  my  own  fault.”  And  again,  a  week  later : 
“  An  industrious  week  for  me.  My  eyes  have  done  me  fair 
service  ;  and  when  I  do  not  try  them  by  exposure  to  light,  the 
hot  air  of  crowded  rooms,  and  the  other  et  cceteras  of  town  life, 
I  think  I  can  very  generally  reckon  on  them  for  some  hours  a 
day.  The  last  winter  they  have  not  averaged  me  more  than 
one  hour ;  my  fault  in  a  great  measure,  I  suspect.” 

Except  from  occasional  exposures  to  lights  in  the  evening,  I 
think  he  suffered  little  at  this  time,  and,  as  he  now  put  himself 
into  rigorous  training  for  work,  and  avoided  everything  that 
could  interfere  with  it,  I  suppose  it  was  the  period  when,  for 
three  or  four  years,  he  enjoyed  more  of  the  blessings  of  sight 
than  he  did  during  the  rest  of  his  life  subsequent  to  the  origi¬ 
nal  injury.  Certainly  he  used  with  diligence  whatever  he 
possessed  of  it,  and  sometimes  seemed  to  revel  presumptuously 
in  the  privileges  its  very  partial  restoration  afforded  him. 

Alter  two  or  three  months  of  careful  preliminary  reading 
on  the  subject  of  Mexico  generally,  he  formed  a  plan  for  the 
whole  work  much  as  he  subsequently  executed  it,  although,  as 
in  the  case  of  the  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  he  for  a  long  time 
hoped  it  would  not  exceed  two  volumes.  The  composition 
he  began  October  14th,  1839.  But  lie  had  gone  only  a  few 
pages,  when  he  became  dissatisfied  with  what  he  had  done, 
and  rewrote  them,  saying,  “  One  would  like  to  make  one’3 
introductory  bow  in  the  best  style  ” ;  and  adds,  “  The  scenery¬ 
painting  with  which  it  opens  wants  the  pencil  of  Irving.” 

This,  however,  was  only  the  beginning  of  his  troubles.  The 
first  part  of  the  work  he  had  undertaken  was  difficult,  and  cost 
him  more  labor  than  all  the  rest.  It  involved  necessarily  the 
early  traditions  and  history  of  Mexico,  and  whatever  related 
to  its  peculiar  civilization  before  the  Conquest  and  during  the 
period  when  that  extraordinary  event  was  going  on.  It  is  true, 
he  soon  discovered  that  much  of  what  passes  for  curious  learn¬ 
ing  in  the  manifold  discussions  of  this  obscure  subject  is  only 
“  mist  and  moonshine  speculations,”  and  that  Humboldt  is  “  the 


BEADING  FOB  “CONQUEST  OF  MEXICO.” 


183 


first,  almost  the  last,  writer  on  these  topics,  who,  by  making 
his  theories  conform  to  facts,  instead  of  bending  his  facts  to 
theories,  truly  merits  the  name  of  a  philosopher.”  Notwith¬ 
standing,  however,  the  small  value  he  found  himself  able  to 
place  on  most  of  the  writers  who  had  examined  the  Mexican 
traditions  and  culture,  he  read  all  who  might  be  considered 
authorities  upon  the  subject,  and  even  many  whose  works  were 
only  in  a  remote  degree  connected  with  it.  Thus,  he  not  only 
went  carefully  over  all  that  Humboldt  had  written,  and  all  he 
could  find  in  the  old  printed  authorities,  like  Herrera,  Torque- 
mada,  and  Sahagun,  together  with  the  vast  documentary  collec¬ 
tions  of  Lord  Kingsborough,  and  the  “  Antiquites  Mexicaines”; 
but  he  listened  to  the  manuscript  accounts  of  Ixtlilxochitl,  of 
Camargo,  Toribio,  and  Zuazo.  He  compared  whatever  he 
found  in  these  with  the  oldest  records  of  civilization  in  other 
countries,  —  with  Herodotus,  Champollion,  and  Wilkinson  for 
Egypt ;  with  Marco  Polo  and  Sir  John  Mandeville  for  the 
East ;  and  with  Gallatin,  Du  Ponceau,  McCulloli,  Heckewel- 
der,  and  Delafield  for  our  own  continent.  Nothing,  in  short, 
seemed  to  escape  him,  and  it  was  curious  to  see  in  his  notes 
how  aptly,  and  with  what  grace,  he  draws  contributions  from 
Elphinstone,  Milman,  and  LyeLl,  —  from  Homer,  Sophocles, 
Southey,  and  Schiller,  —  and,  finally,  what  happy  separate 
facts  he  collects  from  all  the  travellers  who  have  at  any  time 
visited  Mexico,  beginning  with  old  Bernal  Diaz,  and  coming 
down  to  the  very  period  when  he  himself  wrote,  —  I  mean  to 
that  of  Bullock,  Ward,  and  Stephens. 

Such  studies  for  the  deep  foundations  of  the  epic  super¬ 
structure  he  contemplated  were,  of  course,  the  work  of  time, 
and  demanded  not  a  little  patience,  —  more,  in  fact,  of  both 
than  he  had  foreseen.  He  had  reckoned  for  liis  Introduction 
one  hundred  pages.  It  turned  out  two  hundred  and  fifty.  He 
thought  that  he  could  accomplish  it  in  six  months.  It  took 
nearly  a  year  and  a  half,  not  counting  the  year  he  gave  to  pre¬ 
paratory  reading  on  Mexico  generally.  Three  months,  indeed, 
before  he  put  pen  to  paper,  his  notes  already  filled  four  hundred 
pages ;  and  subsequently,  when  he  showed  them  to  me,  as  the 
composition  was  in  progress,  their  mass  was  still  greater.  I  do 
not  know  an  instance  of  more  conscientious  labor ;  the  more 


184 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


worthy  of  note,  because  it  dealt  with  subjects  less  agreeable  to 
his  tastes  and  habits  than  any  others  to  which  he  ever  devoted 
himself.1 

For  the  rest  of  his  History  he  prepared  himself,  not  only  by 
reading  some  of  the  great  masters  of  historical  narrative,  but 
by  noting  down  in  what  particulars  their  example  could  be 
useful  to  him.  This  he  found  a  very  pleasant  and  encouraging 
sort  of  work,  and  it  enabled  him  to  go  on  with  spirit.  Not 
that  he  failed  to  find,  from  time  to  time,  interruptions  more  or 
less  serious,  which  checked  his  progress.  One  of  these  inter¬ 
ruptions  occurred  almost  immediately  after  he  had  completed 
his  severe  labor  on  the  Introduction.  It  was  the  project  for  a 
visit  to  England,  which  tempted  him  very  much,  and  occupied 
and  disturbed  liis  thoughts  more  than  it  needed  to  have  done. 
Speaking  of  his  work  on  his  History,  he  says  :  “  Now,  why 
should  I  not  go  ahead  ?  Because  I  am  thinking  of  going  to 
England,  to  pass  four  months  in  the  expedition,  and  my  mind 
is  distracted  with  the  pros  and  cons.”  And,  ten  days  later,  he 
says :  “  Have  decided,  at  length,  —  after  as  much  doubt  and 
deliberation  as  most  people  would  take  for  a  voyage  round  the 
world,  —  and  decided  not  to  go  to  England.”  He  thought  he 
had  given  up  the  project  for  life.  Happily  this  was  not  the 
case. 

Another  interruption  was  caused  by  a  threatened  abridgment 
of  his  “Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  the  untoward  effect  of  which 

1  After  going  carefully  through  with  the  hieroglyphical  writing  of  the 
Aztecs,  he  says:  “  finished  notes  on  the  hieroglyphical  part  of  the  chapter, 
—  a  hard,  barren  topic.  And  now  on  the  astronomy,  —  out  of  the  frying-pan 
into  the  fire.  I  find  it,  however,  not  so  hard  to  comprehend  as  I  had  an¬ 
ticipated.  Fortunately,  the  Aztec  proficiency  does  not  require  a  knowledge 
of  the  ‘  Principia.’  Still  it  was  enough  to  task  all  my  mathematics,  and 
patience  to  boot;  it  may  be,  the  reader’s,  too.” 

On  this  part  of  his  labors,  Mr.  Gardiner  well  remarks:  “  In  earlier  life  he 
used  to  fancy  that  his  mind  was  constitutionally  incapable  of  comprehend¬ 
ing  mathematical  truths,  or  at  least  of  following  out  mathematical  demon¬ 
strations  beyond  the  common  rules  of  arithmetic.  It  was  a  mistake.  They 
were  only  hard  for  him,  and  uncongenial;  and,  at  the  period  referred  to,  he 
avoided  real  intellectual  labor  as  much  as  he  could.  But  now,  though  with 
no  previous  training,  he  did  overcome  all  such  difficulties,  whenever  they  lay 
in  the  way  of  his  historical  investigations,  whether  on  the  coins  and  currency 
of  the  time  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  or  on  the  astronomy  of  the  Aztecs,  it 
is  a  striking  proof  of  the  power  his  will  had  acquired  over  his  intellectual 
tastes  and  propensities.” 


ABRIDGMENT  OF  “FERDINAND  AND  ISABELLA.' 


185 


he  determined  to  forestall  by  making  an  abridgment  of  it  him¬ 
self.  This  annoyed  him  not  a  little.  After  giving  an  account 
of  a  pleasant  journey,  which  our  two  families  took  together, 
and  which  greatly  refreshed  him,  he  goes  on  :  — 

“  The  week  since  my  return,  lazy  and  listless  and  dreamy.  Ot  fioi. 
And  I  must  now  —  thermometer  at  90°  in  the  shade  —  abandon  my  Mexi¬ 
can  friends  and  the  pleasant  regions  of  the  plateau  for  —  horresco  re/erens  — 

an  abridgment  of  my  ‘  History  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.’ . Nothing 

but  the  dire  necessity  of  protecting  myself  from  piracy  induces  me  to  do 
this  unnatural  work,  —  sweating  down  my  full-grown  offspring  to  the  size 
of  a  pygmy,  —  dwarfing  my  own  conception  from,  I  trust,  a  manly  stat¬ 
ure,  to  the  compass  of  a  nursery  capacity.  I  never  was  iu  love  with  my 
own  compositions.  I  shall  hammer  over  them  now,  till  they  give  me  the 
vdmito.”  2 

Disgusted  with  his  work,  —  which,  after  all,  he  never  pub¬ 
lished,  as  the  idea  of  the  piratical  abridgment  was  early  given 
up  by  the  bookselling  house  that  threatened  it,  —  he  finished  it 
as  soon  as  he  could.  But  whether  it  was  the  disagreeableness 
of  the  task  or  the  earnestness  of  his  labors,  it  was  too  much 
for  him.  He  grew  feeble  and  listless,  and  came,  as  already 
noticed  in  one  of  his  letters,  with  his  father,  to  visit  us  for 
a  few  days  on  the  southern  coast  of  Massachusetts  at  Wood’s 
Hole,  where  the  milder  sea-breezes  might,  he  thought,  prove 
beneficial. 

On  the  9th  of  August  he  records :  — 

“  I  have  done  nothing  except  the  abridgment,  since  May  26,  when  I 
went  on  a  journey  to  Springfield.  My  health  must  be  my  apology  the 
last  three  weeks,  and  a  visit,  from  which  I  returned  two  days  since,  to  my 
friends  at  Wood’s  Hole,  —  an  agreeable  visit,  as  I  anticipated.  Nahant 
has  not  served  me  as  well  as  usual  tliis  summer.  I  have  been  sorely 
plagued  with  dyspeptic  debility  and  pains.  But  I  am  resolved  not  to 
heed  them  more,  and  to  buckle  on  my  harness  for  my  Mexican  campaign 
in  earnest  again,  though  with  more  reserve  and  moderation.” 

This  wtts  a  little  adventurous,  but  it  was  successful.  He 
worked  well  during  the  rest  of  August  at  Nahant,  and  when, 
in  the  autumn,  we  visited  him  as  usual  at  Pepperell,  where  he 
went  early  in  September,  we  found  him  quite  restored,  and  en¬ 
joying  his  studies  heartily.  The  last  days  there  were  days  of 

*  It  should  be  remembered  that,  when  he  wrote  this  passage,  he  had  just 
been  describing  this  terrible  scourge  itself.  (Conquest  of  Mexico,  Vol.  I.  pp. 
894,  etc.)  The  same  disgust  is  expressed  in  one  of  his  letters  at  the  time,  in 
which  he  sa.vs  that  he  went  through  the  whole  work  in  twenty-four  days. 


186 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


great  activity,  and  he  returned  to  Boston,  as  he  almost  always 
did,  with  no  little  reluctance.  Writing  at  the  end  of  October, 
he  says : — 

“  Leave  Peppered  on  Wednesday  next,  November  3.  Yesterday  and 
the  afternoon  previous,  beginning  at  four  P.  M.,  I  wrote  on  my  Chapter 
IV.  (Book  III.)  between  eighteen  and  nineteen  pages  print, — or  twelve 
pages  per  diem.  I  shall  soon  gallop  to  the  ‘  Finis  ’  at  this  pace.  But 
Boston  !  The  word  includes  a  thousand  obstacles.  Can  I  not  overcome 
them 1  ” 

One  of  these  obstacles,  however,  which  he  encountered  as 
soon  as  he  reached  town,  was  a  very  pleasant  one,  and  the 
source  of  much  happiness  to  him  afterwards.  He  found  there 
Lord  Morpeth,  now  the  Earl  of  Carlisle,  who  had  just  arrived 
on  a  visit  to  the  United  States,  and  who  spent  several  week* 
in  Boston.  They  soon  became  acquainted,  and  an  attachment 
sprang  up  between  them  almost  at  once,  which  was  interrupted 
only  by  death. 

How  warm  it  was  on  the  part  of  Lord  Morpeth  will  be 
plainly  seen  by  the  following  letter,  written  not  long  after  he 
left  Boston. 

La  Habana,  March  30,  1842. 

Mr  dear  Prescott, 

You  are  about  the  first  person  in  my  life  who  has  made  me  feel  in  a 
hurry  to  write  to  him ;  and  I  have  really  forborne  hitherto,  from  thinking 
it  might  cross  your  mind  that  you  had  got  rather  more  of  a  bargain  than 
you  wished  when  we  made  our  corresponding  compact.  I  am  sure,  you 
have  a  very  faint  idea  of  the  pleasure  I  derive  from  the  thoughts  of  the 
acquaintance  which  has  been  so  short,  and  the  friendship  which  is  to  be  so 
lasting  between  us ;  and  whenever,  as  has,  however,  been  very  seldom  the 
case,  matters  have  not  gone  quite  so  pleasantly  on  my  journey,  and  the 
question,  “  Was  it  worth  while  after  all  1  ”  would  just  present  itself,  “  Yes, 
I  have  made  acquaintance  with  Prescott,”  has  been  the  readiest  and  most 
efficacious  answer.  I  stop,  though,  lest  you  should  imagine  I  have  caught 
the  Spanish  infection  of  compliments.  It  is  at  least  appropriate  to  write 
to  you  from  Spanish  ground. 

I  have  now  been  in  this  island  about  a  fortnight,  having  spent  most  of 
the  first  week  in  Havana,  and  returned  to  it  this  afternoon  from  an  expedi¬ 
tion  into  the  interior.  I  was  entrapped  into  a  dreadfully  long  passage 
from  Charleston  in  an  American  sailing  packet,  having  been  almost 
guaranteed  a  maximum  of  sLx  days,  whereas  it  took  us  thirteen.  Pain¬ 
fully  we  threaded  the  coast  of  Georgia  and  Florida, 

“  And  wild  Altama  murmured  to  our  woe.” 

However,  we  did  arrive  at  last,  and  nothing  can  be  conceived  more  pic¬ 
turesque  than  the  entrance  into  this  harbor  under  the  beetling  rock  of  the 


LETTER  FROM  LORD  MORPETH. 


187 


fortress,  or  so  peculiar,  un-English,  un-American,  un-Bostonian,  as  the 
appearance  of  everything  —  houses,  streets,  persons,  vehicles  —  that  meets 
your  eye.  I  take  it  to  be  very  Spanish,  modified  by  the  black  population 
and  the  tropical  growths.  I  have  been  on  a  ten  days’  expedition  into  the 
interior,  and  have  visited  sundry  sugar  and  coffee  estates.  At  one  of 
these,  the  Count  Fernandina’s,  I  had  great  satisfaction  in  meeting  the 
Calderons.  I.  immediately  felt  that  you  were  a  link  between  us,  and  that 
I  had  a  right  to  be  intimate  with  them,  which  I  found  it  was  very  well 
worth  while  to  be  on  their  own  account  also.  There  is  great  simplicity 
of  character,  as  well  as  abundant  sense  and  good  feeling,  about  him,  and 
I  think  her  most  remarkably  agreeable  and  accomplished.  I  leave  ycu  to 
judge  what  a  resource  and  aid  they  must  have  been  to  me  in  a  country- 
house,  where  everybody  else  was  talking  Spanish.  We  did  all  think  it  a 
pity  that  you  had  not  gone  to  visit  them  in  Mexico  ;  there  is  so  much 
truth  in  the  Horatian  rule  about  “oculis  subjeeta  fidelibus,”  but,  my  dear 
and  good  friend,  perhaps  you  think  that  is  not  the  epithet  exactly  to  be 
applied  to  you.  They  rave,  especially  Madame  C.,  of  what  they  saw 
during  their  equestrian  exploration  in  Mexico,  the  climate  and  the  pro¬ 
ducts  of  every  latitude,  the  virgin  forests,  of  everything  but  the  state  of 
society,  which  seems  almost  hopelessly  disorganized  and  stranded.  With 
respect  to  Cuban  scenery,  I  think  I  can  best  condense  my  impression  as 
follows  :  — 

“  Ye  tropic  forests  of  unfading  green, 

Where  the  palm  tapers  and  the  orange  glows, 

Where  the  light  bamboo  weaves  her  feathery  screen. 

And  her  far  shade  the  matchless  ceil/a  throws  1 

“  Ye  cloudless  ethers  of  unchanging  blue, 

Save  when  the  rosy  streaks  of  eve  give  way 
To  the  clear  sapphire  of  your  midnight  hue, 

The  burnished  azure  of  your  perfect  day ! 

“Yet  tell  me  not,  my  native  skies  are  bleak, 

That,  flushed  with  liquid  wealth,  no  cane-fields  wave; 

For  Virtue  pines,  and  Manhood  dares  not  speak, 

And  Nature’s  glories  brighten  round  the  slave.” 

Shall  you  be  in  a  hurry  to  ask  me  to  write  again  when  you  see  what 
it  brings  upon  you  1  I  only  wish  you  would  pay  me  in  kind  by  sending 
me  any  bit  of  a  more  favorite  passage,  a  more  special  inspiration,  a  Fisgah 
morsel,  out  of  your  History,  as  it  runs  along.  By  the  way,  upon  the 
subject  of  my  last  line,  and  as  you  know  that  I  do  not  for  the  first  time 
assume  the  function  of  saying  things  disagreeable  and  impertinent,  I  do 
not  think  that  you  seemed  to  possess  quite  the  sufficient  repugnance  to  the 
system  of  slavery.  Come  here  to  be  duly  impressed.  Will  you  very 
kindly  remember  me  to  all  the  members  of  your  family,  from  the  ex  to  the 
growing  Judge.  If  you  ever  have  a  mind  to  write  to  me,  Sumner  will  be 
always  able  to  ascertain  my  direction  from  Mr.  Lewis.  Give  that  good 
friend  of  ours  my  blessing ;  I  wish  it  were  as  valuable  as  a  wig.  If  1 
could  give  you  a  still  stronger  assurance  of  my  wish  to  be  always  pleas¬ 
antly  remembered  by  you,  it  is  that,  excessively  as  I  should  like  to  hear 


188 


WILLIAM  HIGKLING  PRESCOTT. 


from  you  at  all  times,  I  yet  had  rather  you  did  not  write  when  not  entirely 
inclined  to  do  so.  I  set  off  for  New  Orleans  next  week.  You  see,  that  1 
have  had  the  good  fortune  to  lose  my  election,  which  makes  me  more  able 
to  encourage  the  hope  that  we  may  yet  meet  again  on  the  soil  of  your  re¬ 
public.  That  would  be  very  pleasant. 

Believe  me  ever, 

Your  affectionate  friend, 

Morpeth. 

There  is  no  allusion  to  this  new  friendship  among  the  literary 
memoranda,  except  the  following,  made  immediately  after  Lord 
Morpeth  was  gone :  — 

“December  28th,  1841.  Finished  text,  twenty-three  pages  of  print, 
and  the  notes  to  Chapter  VIII.  Oi'  pot,  Ot  pot.  Not  a  page  a  day.  So 
much  for  dinners,  suppers,  Lord  Morpeth,  and  nonsense.  I  wish  I  may 
never  have  a  worse  apology,  however,  than  his  Lordship,  —  a  beautiful 
specimen  of  British  aristocracy  in  mind  and  manners.  But  what  has  it 
all  to  do  with  the  ‘  Conquest  of  Mexico  ’  ?  If  I  don’t  mend,  my  Spaniards 
will  starve  among  the  mountains.  I  will  1  ” 

And  this  time  lie  kept  his  resolution.  During  the  rest  of 
the  winter  of  1841-1842,  he  worked  hard  and  successfully, 
but  made  few  memoranda.  Under  the  7th  of  May,  however, 
I  find  the  following :  — 

“  Another  long  hiatus.  Since  last  entry  paid  two  visits  to  New  York,  — 
a  marvellous  event  in  my  history  1  First,  a  visit,  about  three  weeks  since, 
I  paid  to  meet  Washington  Irving  before  his  departure  for  Spain.  Spent 
half  a  day  with  him  at  Wainwright’s,3  —  indeed,  till  twelve  at  night. 
Found  him  delightful  and  —  what,  they  say,  is  rare  —  wide  awake.  He 
promises  to  aid  me  in  all  my  applications.  Stayed  but  two  days.  Second 

visit,  April  25,  and  stayed  till  May  3  ;  went  to  see  an  oculist,  Dr. - , 

at  request  of  friends,  —  my  own  faith  not  equal  to  the  minimum  requi 
site,  —  the  grain  of  mustard-seed.  I  consumed  about  a  week  or  more  in 
inquiring  about  him  and  his  cases.  Returned  re  infeetd.  Passed  a  very 
agreeable  week,  having  experienced  the  warmest  welcome  from  the  good 
people  of  New  York,  and  seen  what  is  most  worthy  of  attention  in  their 
society.  The  life  I  have  led  there,  leaving  my  eyes  uninjured,  shows  that, 
when  I  do  not  draw  on  them  by  constant  literary  labors.  I  can  bear  a 
great  exposure  to  light  and  company.  During  my  absence  I  have  been  to 
bed  no  night  till  twelve  or  later,  and  have  dined  every  day  with  a  dinner 

party  in  a  blaze  of  light.  Now  for  the  old  Aztecs  again . Shall  I 

not  work  well  after  my  holiday  1  ” 

8  The  Rev.  Jonathan  M.  Wainwright,  afterwards  Bishop  of  the  Diocese  of 
New  York.  He  had  been  from  an  earlier  period  a  friend  of  Mr.  Prescott,  a 
member  of  his  Club  In  Boston,  and  for  some  time,  as  Rector  of  Trinity 
Church,  his  clergyman.  Bishop  Wainwright  died  in  1854. 


CONQUEST  OF  MEXICO”  COMPLETED. 


189 


But  he  did  not.  He  found  it  as  hard  as  ever  to  buckle  on 
his  harness  afresh,  and  complained  as  much  as  ever  of  his  indo¬ 
lence  and  listlessness.  He  however  wrote  a  few  pages,  and  then 
broke  off,  and  we  went  —  I  mean  both  our  families  went  —  to 
Lebanon  Springs,  of  which  he  made  the  following  record  :  — 

“Next  day  after  to-morrow,  June  2,  I  am  going  a  journey  with  our 
friends  the  Ticknors  to  Lebanon  Springs,  and  then 

‘  To  fresh  fields  and  pastures  new.’  ” 

“  June  11.  —  Returned  from  my  excursion  on  the  9th.  Now  to  resume 
my  historical  labors,  and,  I  trust,  with  little  interruption.  The  week  has 
passed  pleasantly,  amidst  the  rich  scenery  of  Lebanon,  Stoekbridge,  and 
Lenox,  which  last  we  have  visited,  making  the  Springs  our  point  d’appui. 
There  are  few  enjoyments  greater  than  that  of  wandering  amidst  beautiful 
landscapes  with  dear  friends  of  taste  and  sympathies  congenial  to  your 
own.” 

From  this  time  until  the  “  Conquest  of  Mexico  ”  was  finished 
he  was  very  active  and  industrious,  suffering  hardly  any  inter¬ 
ruption,  and  working  with  an  interest  which  was  not  less  the 
result  of  his  devotion  to  his  task  than  of  the  nature  of  his  sub¬ 
ject.  Sometimes  he  advanced  very  rapidly,  or  at  the  rate  of 
more  than  nine  printed  pages  a  day  ;  almost  always  doing  more 
and  enjoying  it  more  when  he  was  in  the  country  than  any¬ 
where  else. 

On  the  2d  of  August,  1848,  the  whole  of  the  work  was  com¬ 
pleted  ;  three  years  and  about  ten  months  from  the  time  when  he 
began  the  actual  composition,  and  above  five  years  from  the  time 
when  he  began  to  investigate  the  subject  loosely  and  listlessly. 
His  labor  in  the  last  months  had  been  too  severe,  and  he  felt  it. 
But  he  felt  his  success  too.  “  On  the  whole,”  he  writes  the  day 
he  finished  it,  “  the  last  two  years  have  been  the  most  industri¬ 
ous  of  my  life,  I  think,  —  especially  the  last  year,  —  and,  as 
I  have  won  the  capital,  entitle  me  to  three  months  of  literary 
loafing.”  4 

4  The  following  are  his  own  dates  respecting  the  composition  of  the  “  Con¬ 
quest  of  Mexico.” 

“  May,  1838.  —  Began  scattered  reading  on  the  subject,  doubtful  if  I  get  my 
documents  from  Spain.  Very  listless  and  far-niente-ish  for  a  year.  Over¬ 
visiting  and  not  in  spirits. 

“April,  1839.— -Began  to  read  in  earnest,  having  received  MSS.  from 
Madrid. 

“  Oct.  14,  1839.  —  Wrote  first  page  of  Introduction  at  FeppereU 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


1'JU 


A  few  months  earlier  he  had  sold  the  right  of  publishing 
“  The  Conquest  of  Mexico  ”  from  stereotype  plates  furnished 
by  himself  to  the  Messrs.  Harper  and  Brothers  of  New  York. 

“  They  are  to  have  five  thousand  copies,”  he  says,  “  paying  therefor 
seven  thousand  five  hundred  dollars  in  cash  (deducting  three  months’  in¬ 
terest)  at  the  date  of  publication.  The  right  is  limited  to  one  year,  during 
which  they  may  publish  as  many  more  copies  as  they  please  on  the  same 

terms .  I  hope  they  may  not  be  disappointed,  for  their  sakes  as 

well  as  mine.  But  this  is  a  different  contract  from  that  which  ushered 
‘  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  ’  into  the  world.” 


His  arrangements  with  his  publishers  made  it  necessary  foi 
him  to  deliver  them  the  stereotype  plates  of  the  completed  work 
by  the  15  th  of  October,  and  thus  caused  a  pressure  upon  him 
to  which  he  resolved  that  he  would  never  again  expose  himself. 
But  he  needed  not  to  feel  anxious  or  hurried.  His  work  was 
all  stereotyped  on  the  10th  of  September. 

He  went  immediately  to  Pepperell,  that  he  might  begin  the 
pleasant  “  literary  loafing  ”  he  had  proposed  as  his  reward.  “  I 
promise  myself,”  he  says,  “  a  merry  autumn  with  lounging  at 
my  ease  among  friends  and  idle  books ;  a  delicious  contrast 
after  the  hard  summer’s  work  I  have  done.”  A  part  of  this 
we  spent  with  him,  and  found  it  as  gay  as  he  had  anticipated. 
But,  as  he  approached  its  end,  a  sad  disappointment  awaited 
him.  On  the  28th  of  October,  his  father  suffered  a  slight 
shock  of  paralysis  and  the  next  day  he  wrote  to  me  as  follows. 


Pepperell,  Sunday  Evening. 

Mr  dear  George, 

I  suppose  you  may  have  heard  through  William  of  our  affliction  in  the 
illness  of  my  father.  As  you  may  get  incorrect  impressions  of  his  condi¬ 
tion,  I  will  briefly  state  it. 

His  left  cheek  was  slightly,  though  very  visibly,  affected  by  the  paralysis, 
—  his  articulation  was  so  confused  that  he  was  scarcely  intelligible,  —  and 
his  mind  was  sadly  bewildered.  He  was  attacked  in  this  way  yesterday 
about  half  past  nine  A.  M.  In  a  few  horns  his  face  was  restored  to  its 


“  March  1,  1841.  —  Finished  Introduction  and  Part  I.  of  Appendix. 

“  August  2,  1843.  —  Finished  the  work.  So  the  Introduction,  about  half  a 
vol.,  occupied  about  as  long  as  the  remaining  2.J  vols.  of  dashing  narrative. 

“August,  1841 -August,  1842.  —  Composed  662  pages  of  print,  text  and 
notes  of  the  narrative. 

“  August,  1842  -  August,  1843.  —  Composed  425  pp.  print,  text  and  notes  ; 
revised  Ticknor’s  corrections  and  his  wife’s  of  all  the  work.  Corrected,  &c. 
proofs  of  nearly  all  the  work.  The  last  Book  required  severe  reading  of  MSS  ” 


ILLNESS  OF  MR.  PRESCOTT,  SENIOR. 


191 


usual  appearance.  His  articulation  was  gradually  improved,  and  to-day 
is  nearly  perfect ;  and  his  mind  has  much  brightened,  so  that  you  would 
not  detect  any  failing  unless  your  attention  were  called  to  it.  I  have  nc 
doubt  the  present  attack  will  pass  away  in  time  without  leaving  permanent 
consequences.  But  for  the  future,  I  should  tremble  to  lift  the  veil.  There 
is  an  oppressive  gloom  over  the  landscape,  such  as  it  never  wore  to  my 
eyes  before.  God  bless  you  and  yours. 

Most  affectionately, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 

George  Ticknor,  Esq. 

Later,  he  records  his  feelings  in  the  same  tone. 

“  A  cloud  is  thrown  over  our  happy  way  of  life  by  the  illness  of  my  dear 
faiw,  who  three  days  since  was  attacked  by  a  stroke  of  paralysis,  which 
affcctv.,1  his  speech  materially,  and  for  the  first  time  threw  a  darkness  over 
that  fine  intellect.  The  effects  of  the  shock  have,  thank  Heaven,  much 
passed  away  ;  and  we  may  hope  that  it  is  not  intended  that  so  much  wis¬ 
dom  and  goodness  shall  be  taken  away  from  us  yet.  Still  it  has  filled  me 
with  a  sadness  such  as  but  one  other  event  of  my  life  ever  caused  ;  for  he 
has  been  always  a  part  of  myself ;  to  whom  I  have  confided  every  matter 
of  any  moment ;  in  whose  superior  judgment  I  have  relied  in  all  affairs 
of  the  least  consequence ;  and  on  whose  breast  I  have  been  sure  to  find 
ready  sympathy  in  every  joy  and  sorrow.  I  have  never  read  any  book  of 
merit  without  discussing  it  with  him,  and  his  noble  example  has  been  a 
light  to  my  steps  in  all  the  chances  and  perplexities  of  life.  When  that 
light  is  withdrawn,  life  will  wear  a  new  and  a  dark  aspect  to  me.” 

As  he  fondly  anticipated,  his  father’s  health  was  soon  in  a 
great  measure  restored,  and  he  enjoyed  life  much  as  he  had 
done  for  some  years  previous  to  this  attack.  Meantime  the 
inevitable  press  went  on,  and  the  “  Conquest  of  Mexico  ”  was 
published  on  the  6th  of  December,  1843. 

“It  is,”  he  says,  “  six  years  next  Christmas,  since  ‘Ferdinand  and  Isa¬ 
bella  ’  made  their  bow  to  the  public.  This  second  apparition  of  mine  is 
by  no  means  so  stirring  to  my  feelings.  I  don’t  know  but  the  critic’s 
stings,  if  pretty  well  poisoned,  may  not  raise  a  little  irritation.  But  I  am 
sure  I  am  quite  proof  against  the  anodyne  of  praise.  Not  that  I  expect 
much  either.  But  criticism  has  got  to  be  an  old  story.  It  is  impossible  for 
one  who  has  done  that  sort  of  work  himself  to  feel  any  respect  for  it.  How 
can  a  critic  look  his  brother  in  the  face  without  laughing'?  As  it  is  not  in 
the  power  of  the  critics  to  write  a  poor  author  up  into  permanent  estima¬ 
tion,  so  none  but  an  author  who  has  once  been  kindly  received  can  write 
himself  down.  Yei,  I  shall  be  sorry  if  the  work  does  not  receive  the  appro¬ 
bation  of  my  friends  here  and  abroad  —  and  of  the  few.”b 

8  It  seems  singular  now  that  he  should  have  had  any  anxiety  about  the 
Buccess  of  the  “  Conquest  of  Mexico.”  But  he  had.  Above  a  year  earlier, 
ho  recorded  his  doubts :  “  The  Ticknors,  wl  o  have  read  my  manuscript 


192 


WILLIAM  IIICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


But  there  was  no  need  of  this  misgiving,  or  of  any  misgiving 
whatever.  The  work  was  greeted  from  one  end  of  the  United 
States  to  the  other  with  a  chorus  of  applause,  such  as  was 
never  vouchsafed  to  any  other,  of  equal  gravity  and  impor¬ 
tance,  that  had  been  printed  or  reprinted  among  us.  "Within  a 
month  after  it  appeared,  more  than  a  hundred  and  thirty  news¬ 
papers  from  different  parts  of  the  country  had  been  sent  to 
the  author,  all  in  one  tone.  Within  the  same  period,  many  of 
the  booksellers’  shops  were  exhausted  of  their  supplies  several 
times,  so  as  to  be  unable  to  meet  the  current  demand.  And 
finally,  for  a  fortnight  after  the  fourth  thousand  was  sold,  the 
whole  market  of  the  country  was  left  bare.  The  five  thousand 
copies,  provided  for  by  the  contract,  which  he  thought  could 
hardly  be  sold  within  a  year,  disappeared,  in  fact,  in  about  four 
months.  The  sale  of  the  work  was,  therefore,  as  remarkable 
as  the  applause  with  which  it  had  been  received  on  its  appear¬ 
ance.  The  author  ceased  to  be  anxious,  and  the  publishers 
were  jubilant.8 

An  English  edition  was  at  the  same  time  published  by  Mr. 
Bentley  in  London  ;  the  copyright,  after  considerable  negotia¬ 
tion,  having  been  sold  to  him  on  the  author’s  behalf  by  his 
kind  and  excellent  friend,  Colonel  Aspinwall,  for  six  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds.  A  second  edition  was  called  for  in  the  May 
following,  and  Baudry  published  one  at  Paris  in  the  original 
soon  afterwards.  It  had  at  once  a  great  run  in  England  and 
on  the  Continent. 

Of  course,  the  reviews  of  all  kinds  and  sizes  were  prompt 
in  their  notices.  At  home  the  authors  of  such  criticisms  ran 
no  risk.  They  were  to  deal  with  a  writer  whose  character  was 
fully  settled,  in  his  own  country  at  least.  There  was,  there¬ 
fore,  no  difference  of  opinion  among  them,  no  qualification,  no 
reserve  ;  certainly  none  that  I  remember,  and  none  of  any  mo¬ 
ment.  A  beautiful  article,  written  with  great  judgment  and 

relating  to  the  Conquest,  assure  me  that  the  work  will  succeed.  Would  they 
were  my  enemies  that  say  so!  But  they  are  friends  to  the  backbone.”  He 
had  the  same  misgivings,  I  know,  until  the  work  had  been  published  two  or 
three  weeks. 

«  This  was  the  genuine  fruit  of  a  well-earned  fame,  as  the  earliest  sales  in 
Boston  of  the  “Ferdinand  and  Isabella”  were  the  honorable  fruit  of  great 
social  and  personal  regard.  See  ante,  p.  101. 


CONQUEST  OF  MEXICO”  IN  ENGLAND. 


193 


kindness,  by  Mr.  George  S.  Hillard,  appeared  in  the  “  North 
American  Review  ”  for  January,  1844,  and  was  followed  by 
two  of  no  less  power  and  finish  in  the  “  Christian  Examiner” 
by  Mr.  George  T.  Curtis,  and  in  the  “  Methodist  Quarterly  ” 
by  Mr.  Joseph  G.  Cogswell.  These  all  came  from  the  hands 
of  personal  friends.  But  friendship  was  not  needed  to  help 
the  success  of  a  book  which,  while  it  was  settled  on  an  assured 
foundation  of  facts  carefully  ascer  tained,  yet  read,  in  the  narra¬ 
tive  portions,  like  a  romance,  and  was  written  in  a  style  often 
not  less  glowing  than  that  of  Scott,  and  sometimes  reminding 
us  of  what  is  finest  in  “  Ivanhoe,”  or  “  The  Talisman.” 

The  same  verdict,  therefore,  soon  arrived  from  England, 
where  the  book  was  necessarily  judged  without  reference  to  its 
author.  The  articles  in  the  “  Athenaeum  ”  were,  I  think,  the 
earliest ;  one  of  no  small  ability,  which  appeared  rather  late,  by 
Charles  Philips,  Esq.,  in  the  “  Edinbur  gh,”  was,  on  the  whole, 
the  most  laudatory.  But  they  were  all  in  the  same  spirit. 
A  long  and  elaborate  criticism,  however,  in  the  “  Quarterly,” 
written  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Milman,  now  (1862)  the  Dean  of  St. 
Paul’s,  was  the  most  carefully  considered  and  thorough  of  any. 
It  gratified  Mr.  Prescott  very  much  by  its  strong,  manly  sense 
and  graceful  scholar-ship,  but  still  more  by  the  estimate  which 
a  person  of  such  known  elevation  of  character  placed  upon  the 
moral  tendencies  of  the  whole  work.  It  became  at  once  the 
foundation  of  an  acquaintance  which  ripened  afterwards  into  a 
sincere  personal  friendship. 

But  Mr.  Prescott  did  not  suffer  these  tlrings  to  have  more 
than  their  due  weight  with  him,  or  to  occupy  much  of  his  time 
or  thought.  After  giving  a  slight  notice  of  them,  he  says  : 
“It  is  somewhat  enervating,  and  has  rather  an  unwholesome 
effect,  to  p odder  long  over  these  personalities.  The  best  course 
is  action,  —  things,  not  self,  —  at  all  events  not  self-congratula¬ 
tion.  So  now  I  propose  to  dismiss  all  further  thoughts  of  my 
literary  success.” 


M 


194 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


TO  CHAELES  LYELL,  ESQ.7 

Nahant,  July  11,  1842. 

My  dear  Mr.  Lyell, 

T  understand  from  Mrs.  Ticknor  that  you  are  to  be  in  town  this  week, 
previous  to  sailing.  I  trust  we  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  shaking  hands 
with  you  and  Mrs.  Lyell  again  before  you  shake  the  dust  of  our  republi¬ 
can  soil  oft-  your  feet.  Perhaps  your  geological  explorations  may  lead  you 
among  our  cliffs  again.  If  so,  will  you  and  Mrs.  L.  oblige  us  by  dining 
and  making  our  house  your  head-quarters  for  the  day  1  I  regret,  my  father 
and  mother  are  absent  in  the  country  this  week.  But  I  need  not  say,  that 
it  will  give  my  wife  and  myself  sincere  pleasure  to  see  you  both,  though 
we  had  rather  it  should  be  in  the  way  of  “  how  d’  ye  do,”  than  “  good-by.” 
Pray  remember  me  most  kindly  to  Mrs.  Lyell,  and  believe  me 
Very  faithfully  yours, 

Wai.  H.  Prescott. 

TO  DON  PASCUAL  DE  GAYANGOS. 

Boston,  Jan.  30,  1843. 

My  dear  Eriend, 

From  yours  of  December  25th,  I  find  you  are  still  in  London.  I  hope 
you  received  mine  of  November  14th,  informing  you  of  Mr.  Tytler’s  kind 
offer  to  place  his  extracts  from  the  State  Paper  Office  at  my  disposal,  and 
that  you  also  received  my  note  of  December  1st.  When  you  have  exam¬ 
ined  the  papers  in  Brussels  and  Paris  you  will  be  able  to  form  an  estimate 
of  what  the  copying  them  will  cost.  I  think  that  the  first  twenty  letters 
in  Raumer’s  “  History  of  the  Sixteenth  and  Seventeenth  Centuries  ”  show 
that  there  are  very  important  materials  in  the  Bibliotheque  Royale  in 
Paris ;  and  I  should  think  it  would  be  well  to  get  copies  of  the  very  doc¬ 
uments  of  which  he  gives  some  slight  abstracts.  They  seem,  several  of 
them,  to  relate  to  the  private  life  of  Philip  and  his  family,  and  interesting 
details  of  the  court  in  his  reign,  and  the  latter  part  of  that  of  Charles  the 
Fifth. 

The  Venetian  Rdazioni  are,  I  suppose,  some  of  them  quite  important, 
considering  the  minuteness  with  which  tho  ministers  of  that  republic  en¬ 
tered  into  the  affairs  of  the  courts  where  they  resided.  Mr.  Everett  speaks 
of  Mansard's  account  of  these  Relations  as  affording  all  the  information  one 
could  desire  to  guide  one.  If  Mr.  E.  is  right,  the  Archives  du  Royaume, 
in  the  Hotel  Soubise,  must  also  contain  much  of  interest  relating  to  our 
subject.  But  to  say  truth,  valuable  as  are  official  documents,  such  as 

7  This  letter  is  inserted  here,  as  the  first  in  a  very  interesting  correspond¬ 
ence,  of  which  large  portions  will  hereafter  be  given,  and  which  was  termi¬ 
nated  only  by  Mr.  Prescott’s  death.  Mr.  Lyell  —  now  Sir  Charles  Lyell  — 
was  in  July,  1842,  just  finishing  his  first  visit  to  the  United  States,  of  which 
he  afterwards  published  an  account  in  1845,  —  one  of  the  most  acute  and  just 
views  of  me  character  and  condition  of  the  people  of  the  United  States  that 
has  ever  been  printed. 


LETTER  FROM  HON.  ALBERT  GALLATIN. 


195 


treaties,  instructions  to  ministers,  &c.,  I  set  still  greater  store  by  those 
letters,  diaries,  domestic  correspondence,  which  lay  open  the  characters 
and  habits  of  the  great  actors  in  the  drama.  The  others  furnish  the  cold 
outlines,  but  these  give  us  the  warm  coloring  of  history,  —  all  that  gives  it 
its  charm  and  interest.  Such  letters  as  Peter  Martyr’s,  such  notices  as  the 
Qdincuagenas  of  Oviedo,  and  such  gossiping  chronicles  as  Bernal  Diaz’s, 
are  worth  an  ocean  of  state  papers  for  the  historian  of  life  and  manners, 
who  would  paint  the  civilization  of  a  period.  Do  you  not  think  so  1 


TO  DON  PASCUAL  DE  GAYANGOS. 

“  Boston,  Jan.  30,  1843. 

. You  will  also  probably  see  Sehor  Benavides,  my  translator.* 

I  am  greatly  obliged  by  the  account  which  you  have  given  me  of  him  and 
the  other  translators,  who,  I  suppose,  will  now  abandon  the  ground.  You 
say  Senor  B.  will  controvert  some  of  my  opinions.  So  much  the  better, 
if  he  does  it  in  a  courteous  spirit,  as  I  have  no  doubt  he  will  ;  for  if  he 
did  not  approve  of  the  work  on  the  whole,  he  would,  I  should  suppose, 
hardly  take  the  trouble  to  translate  it.  If  he  presents  views  differing  on 
some  points  from  mine,  the  reader  will  have  more  lights  for  getting  at 
truth,  which  ought  to  be  the  end  of  history.  Very  likely  I  have  pleased 
my  imagination  with  a  beau  ideal ;  for  you  know  I  am  born  a  republican, 
but  not  a  fierce  one,  and  in  my  own  country,  indeed,  am  ranked  among 
what  in  England  would  correspond  with  the  conservatives. 

I  hope  his  work  will  be  got  up  in  creditable  style,  as  regards  typographi¬ 
cal  execution,  as  well  as  in  more  important  matters.  I  should  like  to 
make  a  good  impression  on  my  adopted  countrymen,  and  a  good  dress 
would  help  that.  Prom  what  you  say  of  Sehor  Benavides  I  augur  favor¬ 
ably  for  the  work.  I  hope  he  will  see  the  last  Loudon  edition,  full  of 
errors  as  it  is  in  the  Castilian.  You  will  be  good  enough  to  send  me 
some  copies  when  it  is  published. 


PROM  MR.  GALLATIN. 

New  Yokk,  June  22,  1843. 

Dear  Sir, 

I  feel  much  obliged  to  you  for  the  copy  of  Veytia’s  “  Historia  Antigua 
de  Mexico,”  sent  me  by  Mr.  Catherwood.  Unfortunately  I  have  so  far 
forgotten  Spanish,  as  everything  else  which  I  learnt  late  in  life,  that  to  read 
it  has  become  a  labor;  and  Veytia  is  not  very  amusing  or  inviting.  Still 
his  work  deserves  attention.  The  authorities  he  quotes  are  precisely  those 
of  Clavigero,  and  the  two  books  were  written  independent  of  each  other. 
I  have  only  run  through  Veytia,  and  I  intend  (if  I  can)  to  read  it  more 
carefully.  But  the  result  in  my  mind,  so  far  as  I  have  compared,  is  that, 
beyond  the  one  hundred  years  which  preceded  the  Spanish  conquest,  the 
Mexican  history  is  but  little  better  than  tradition  ;  at  least  beyond  the 
limits  of  the  valley  of  Mexico.  Our  best  historical  authorities  are.  as  it 


8  Of  the  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.' 


3  96 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


seems  to  me,  those  which  the  Spaniards  found  and  saw  on  their  arrival, 
and  the  still  existing  monuments.  But  I  should  not  indulge  in  such  crude 
conjectures,  and  wait  with  impatience  for  your  work,  the  publication  of 
which  please  to  hasten  that  I  may  have  a  chance  to  read  it.  Please  to 
accept  the  assurance  of  my  high  regard  and  distinguished  consideration, 
and  to  believe  me, 

Dear  Sir, 

Your  obedient  and  faithful  servant, 

Albert  Gallatin. 


TO  DON  PASCUAL  DE  GAYANGOS. 


Boston,  Nov.  30,  1843. 

Mt  dear  Friend, 

I  am  glad  to  find  by  your  letter  of  October  10,  that  you  are  so  comfort¬ 
ably  established  in  Madrid,  and  most  happy  that  you  are  placed  in  the 
Arabic  chair  for  which  you  are  so  well  qualified.9  It  is  much  preferable 
to  an  African  mission  on  every  account,  and  I  hope,  whatever  party  comes 
uppermost  in  your  land  of  trastornos,  you  will  not  be  disturbed  in  it.10  I 
am  not  very  much  surprised  at  the  impediments  you  met  with  in  the  pub¬ 
lic  libraries  from  their  confused  state,  and  from  the  apathy  of  those  who 
have  the  care  of  them.  How  can  the  regard  for  letters  flourish  amidst 
such  cruel  civil  dissensions  1  But  meliora  speremus.  In  the  mean  time  I  do 
not  doubt  that  your  habitual  perseverance  and  the  influence  of  your  posi¬ 
tion  will  give  you  access  to  what  is  of  most  importance.  You  say  nothing 
of  the  Escoriai,  in  speaking  of  the  great  collections.  Is  not  that  a  reposi¬ 
tory  of  much  valuable  historic  matter  ?  And  is  it  not  in  tolerable  order  % 
1  believe  it  used  to  be. 

It  will  be  very  hard  if  the  Spaniards  refuse  me  admittance  into  their 
archives,  when  I  am  turning  my  information,  as  far  as  in  my  power,  to 
exhibit  their  national  prowess  and  achievements.  I  see  I  am  already  criti¬ 
cised  by  an  English  periodical  for  vindicating  in  too  unqualified  a  manner 
the  deeds  of  the  old  Conquerors.  If  you  were  in  England,  I  should  be 
sure  of  one  champion,  at  least,  to  raise  a  voice  in  my  favor  !  But  I  hope 
it  will  not  be  needed. 

You  are  most  fortunate  in  having  access  to  such  private  collections  as 
those  of  Alva,  Santa  Cruz,  Infantado,  &c.  The  correspondence  of  the 
admiral  of  the  Armada,  and  that  also  of  Rcquesens,  must  have  interest. 
It  was  the  archives  of  the  Santa  Cruz  family  of  which  Senor  Navarrete 
spoke  as  containing  materials  relating  to  Philip  the  Second.  Pray  thank 
that  kind-hearted  and  venerable  scholar  for  his  many  courtesies  to  me. 
You  will  of  course  add  to  our  collection  whatever  he  and  his  brother 
Academicians  publish  in  reference  to  this  reign. 


9  In  the  University  of  Madrid. 

10  Don  Pascual  had  some  thought  of  going,  in  an  official  capacity,  to 
Tunis,  &c.,  so  as  to  collect  Arabic  manuscripts.  In  fact,  he  did  go  later;  but 
not  at  this  time,  and  not,  I  think,  burdened  with  official  cares. 


LETTER  FROM  MR.  HALLAM. 


197 


FROM  MR.  ROGERS. 

My  dear  Sir, 

At  Paris,  where  I  was  idling  away  one  of  the  autumn  months,  I  received 
your  welcome  letter ;  and  I  need  not  say  with  what  pleasure  I  discovered 
your  volumes  on  my  table  when  1  returned  to  London.  Let  me  congratu¬ 
late  you  on  an  achievement  at  once  so  bloodless  and  so  honorable  to  your 
country  and  yourself. 

“  It  seems  to  me,”  says  Mr.  Hume  to  Mr.  Gibbon,  “  that  your  country¬ 
men,  for  almost  a  whole  generation,  have  given  themselves  up  to  barba¬ 
rous  and  absurd  faction,  and  have  totally  neglected  all  polite  letters.  I  no 
longer  expected  any  valuable  production  ever  to  come  from  them.” 

May  it  not  in  some  measure  be  said  even  now  of  England  and  France, 
and  I  fear  also  of  America,  —  the  many  who  would  except  themselves 
there  being  for  the  most  part  a  multitude  of  fast  writers  and  fast  readers, 
who  descend  from  one  abyss  to  another? 

That  you  may  long  continue  in  health  and  strength,  to  set  a  better  ex¬ 
ample,  is  the  ardent  but  disinterested  wish  of  one  who  cannot  live  to  avail 
himself  of  it. 

Sincerely  yours, 

S.  Rogers. 

London,  Nov.  30,  1843. 


FROM  MR.  HALLAM. 

Wilton  Crescent,  London,  Dec.  29,  1843. 

Mx  dear  Sir, 

I  received,  not  long  after  your  letter  reached  my  hands,  a  copy  of  your 
“  History  of  the  Conquest  of  Mexico,”  which  you  had  so  kindly  led  me 
to  expect ;  and  should  have  sooner  acknowledged  it,  if  my  absence  from 
London  soon  afterwards  had  not  retarded  my  perusal  of  it,  and  if  I  had 
not  been  forced  to  wait  some  weeks  for  an  opportunity  of  sending  my  an¬ 
swer  through  our  friend  Mr.  Everett. 

I  sincerely  congratulate  you  on  this  second  success  in  our  historic  field. 
If  the  subject  is  not,  to  us  at  least  of  the  Old  World,  quite  equal  in  in¬ 
terest  to  the  “  History  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  you  have  perhaps  been 
able  to  throw  still  more  fresh  light  on  the  great  events  which  you  relate, 
from  sources  hardly  accessible,  and  at  least  very  little  familiar  to  us.  It 
has  left  Robertson’s  narrative,  the  only  popular  history  we  had,  very  far 
behind.  But  I  confess  that  the  history  of  your  hero  has  attracted  me  less 
than  those  chapters  relating  to  Mexican  Antiquities,  which  at  once  excite 
our  astonishment  and  curiosity.  Mr.  Stephens’s  work  had  already  turned 
our  minds  to  speculate  on  the  remarkable  phenomenon  of  a  civilized  nation 
decaying  without,  as  far  as  we  can  judge,  any  subjugation,  (or,  of  one  by 
a  more  barbarous  people,  this,  though  not  unprecedented,  is  still  remarka¬ 
ble,)  and  without  leaving  any  record  of  its  existence.  Some  facts,  if  such 
they  are,  mentioned  by  you,  are  rather  startling,  especially  those  of  relig¬ 
ious  analogy  to  Jewish  and  Christian  doctrines  ;  but  they  do  not  all  seem 


198 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT 


to  rest  on  certain  evidence.  If  true,  we  must  perhaps  explain  them  by 
help  of  the  Norwegian  settlement. 

Your  style  appears  to  me  almost  perfect,  and  better,  I  think,  than  in 
your  former  history.  You  are  wholly  free  from  what  we  call  American¬ 
isms.  Sometimes  I  should  think  a  phrase  too  colloquial,  especially  in 
the  notes. 

I  beg  you  to  give  my  best  regards  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ticknor,  when  you 
next  see  them,  and  I  remain,  my  dear  sir, 

Very  faitlifully  yours, 

Henry  Hall  am. 


FROM  MR.  EVERETT. 


London,  Jan.  2,  1844. 

My  dear  Sir, 

. We  have  been  reading  the  “  Conquest  of  Mexico  ”  about  our 

fireside,  and  finish  the  second  volume  this  evening.  I  enjoy  it  more  than 
its  predecessor.  The  interest  is  of  a  more  epic  kind  ;  and  reading  it  aloud 
is  more  favorable  to  attention  and  effect.  I  think  its  success  complete.  I 
hear  different  opinions  as  to  its  merit  compared  with  “Ferdinand  and 
Isabella.”  Old  Mr.  Thomas  Grenville  (the  son  of  George,  of  Stamp  Act 
fame,  and  the  collector,  I  think,  of  the  best  private  library  of  its  size  I 
know)  gives  the  preference  to  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.”  Mr.  Hallam 
inclines,  I  think,  to  prefer  “  The  Conquest.”  He  said  he  thought  the  style 
was  rather  easier  in  the  latter ;  but  Mr.  Grenville  made  precisely  the  same 
criticism  as  to  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  which  he  told  me  he  thought 
the  ablest  modern  history  in  the  English  language.  This  extraordinary 
and  venerable  person  was  eighty-eight  years  old  on  the  31st  of  December. 
On  that  day  he  walked  from  his  house  near  Hyde  Park  Comer  to  Staf¬ 
ford  House,  and  called  on  me  on  his  way  home ;  not  seeming  more 
fatigued  than  I  should  have  been  with  the  same  circuit.  I  once  asked 
him  if  he  recollected  his  uncle,  Lord  Chatham,  and  he  answered  that  ho 
recollected  playing  ninepins  with  him  at  the  age  of  fourteen. 

I  enclose  you  a  letter  from  Mr.  Hallam.  The  article  on  your  book  in 
the  “  Quarterly,”  as  I  learn  from  Dr.  Holland,  was  written  by  Mr.  Mil- 
man.  Mr.  Grenville  spoke  with  great  severity  of  the  article  on  “  Ferdi¬ 
nand  and  Isabella  ”  which  appeared  in  the  same  journal. 


MEMORANDA. 

January  7,  1844.  —  The  first  entry  in  the  New  Year.  It  begins  auspi¬ 
ciously  for  this  second  child  of  my  brain,  as  1838  did  for  its  elder  brother. 
More  than  a  hundred  and  thirty  papers  from  different  parts  of  the  coun¬ 
try,11  and  a  large  number  of  kind  notes  from  friends,  attest  the  rapid 
circulation  of  the  work,  and  the  very  favorable  regard  it  receives  from  the 
public.  The  principal  bookstores  here  have  been  exhausted  of  theii 

U  These  were  sent  to  him  in  a  flood,  chiefly  by  mail  and  by  his  publishers. 


LETTER  FROM  LORD  MORPETH. 


199 


copies  two  or  three  times,  though  there  has  always  been  a  supply  at  the 
inferior  depots.  The  Harpers  have  not  been  able  to  send  the  books  nearly 
as  fast  as  ordered.  I  suppose  the  delay  is  explained  by  the  time  occupied 
in  binding  them 

From  the  prevalent  (with  scarcely  an  exception)  tone  of  criticism,  I 
think  three  things  may  be  established  in  regard  to  this  History,  of  which  I 
had  previously  great  doubts.  1.  The  Introduction  and  chapter  in  Apoen- 
dix  I.  are  well  regarded  by  the  public,  and  I  did  not  spend  my  time  inju¬ 
diciously  on  them.  2.  The  last  book,  on  the  biography  of  Cortes,  is 
considered  a  necessary  and  interesting  appendage.  3.  The  style  of  the 
whole  work  is  considered  richer,  freer,  more  animated  and  graceful  than 
that  of  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.”  This  last  is  a  very  important  fact, 
for  I  wrote  with  much  less  fastidiousness  and  elaboration.  Yet  I  rarely 
wrote  without  revolving  the  chapter  many  times  in  my  mind  before  writ¬ 
ing.  But  I  did  not  podder  over  particular  phrases. 

. Had  I  accepted  half  of  my  good  friend  Folsom’s  criticisms,  what 

would  have  become  of  the  style  ?  Yet  they  had  and  will  always  have 
their  value  for  accurate  analysis  of  language  and  thought,  and  for  accu¬ 
racy  of  general  facts.  My  Postscripts,  written  with  least  labor,  have  been 
much  commended  as  to  style. 


FROM  LORD  MORPETH. 

Castle  Howard,  Jan.  23,  1844. 

My  dear  Prescott, 

You  will  have  thought  me  over-long  in  answering  your  most  gracious 
and  precious  gift  of  your  “  Mexico,”  but  I  sent  you  a  message  that  you 
were  not  to  have  a  word  from  me  about  it  till  I  had  quite  finished  it,  and, 
as  I  read  it  out  loud  to  my  mother  and  sister,  this  has  not  taken  place  so 
soon  as  you  might  have  expected.  And  now  my  poor  verdict  will  come 
after  you  are  saturated  with  the  public  applause,  and  will  care  mighty  little 
for  individual  suffrage.  Still  1  will  hope  that,  however  careless  you  may 
be  of  the  approbation,  you  will  not  be  wholly  indifferent  to  the  pleasure 
with  which  our  occupation  has  been  attended.  Nothing  could  be  more 
satisfactory  than  to  roll  along  through  your  easy,  animated,  and  pictured 
periods,  and  your  candid  and  discriminating,  but  unassuming,  disquisi¬ 
tions,  and  to  have  my  own  interest  and  approval  shared  by  those  to  whom 
I  read  ;  and  then  further  to  find  the  wide  circle  without  corroborate  our 
verdict, 

“  And  nations  hail  thee  with  a  love  like  mine.” 

We  are  getting  through  the  mildest  winter  almost  ever  remembered. 
Before  you  receive  this,  I  probably  shall  be  a  member  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  a  re-entry  upon  public  turmoil  of  which  I  do  not  at  all  relish 
the  prospect.  Are  you  beginning  Pizarro  ?  How  you  must  have  pleased 
Rogers  by  your  mention  of  him.  Pray  give  my  kindest  regards  to  youi 
family. 

Believe  me,  ever  affectionately  yours, 

Morpeth. 


'  '.(4  K* 


200  WILLIAM  mCKLING  PRESCOTT. 


TO  THE  REV.  H.  H.  MIL  MAN. 

Boston,  Jan.  30,  1844. 

My  dear  Sir, 

If  you  will  allow  one  to  address  yon  so  familiarly  who  has  not  the  honor 
to  be  personally  known  to  you  ;  and  yet  the  frequency  with  which  I  have 
heard  your  name  mentioned  by  some  of  our  common  friends,  and  my  long 
familiarity  with  your  writings,  make  me  feel  as  if  you  were  not  a  stranger 
to  me.  I  have  learnt  from  my  friend  Mr.  Everett  that  you  are  the  authoi 
of  a  paper  in  the  last  London  “  Quarterly”  on  the  “  Conquest  of  Mexico.” 
It  is  unnecessary  to  say  with  what  satisfaction  I  have  read  your  elegant 
and  encomiastic  criticism,  written  throughout  in  that  courteous  and  gentle¬ 
manlike  tone,  particularly  grateful  as  coming  from  a  Transatlantic  critic, 
who  has  no  national  partialities  to  warp  his  judgment.  Speaking  the  same 
language,  nourished  by  the  same  literature,  and  with  the  same  blood  in  our 
veins,  I  assure  you  the  American  scholar,  next  to  his  own  country,  looks 
for  sympathy  and  countenance  to  his  fatherland  more  than  to  any  other 
country  in  the  world.  And  when  he  receives  the  expression  of  it  from 
those  whom  he  has  been  accustomed  to  reverence,  he  has  obtained  one  of 
his  highest  rewards. 

May  I  ask  you  to  remember  me  kindly  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lyell  and  to 
Mr.  Hallam,  and  believe  me,  my  dear  sir. 

With  great  respect. 

Your  obliged  and  obedient  servant, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 


TO  JOHN  0.  HAMILTON,  ESQ.,  NEW  YORK. 

Boston,  Feb.  10, 1844. 

Mr  dear  Mr.  Hamilton, 

I  have  read  the  notice  of  my  work  in  the  last  “  Democratic  Review,” 
and  as  you  interested  yourself  to  get  it  written,  you  may  perhaps  be  pleased 
to  know  my  opinion  about  it.  I  like  it  very  much.  It  is  written  through¬ 
out  in  a  very  courteous  and  gentlemanlike  spirit.  As  far  as  I  am  person¬ 
ally  concerned,  I  should  be  very  unreasonable  were  I  not  gratified  by  the 
liberal  commendation  of  my  literary  labors. 

The  great  question  of  the  proper  standard  of  historic  judgment  is  one 
in  which  of  course  I  must  be  at  issue  with  the  writer,  —  or  rather  one  in 
which  he  chooses  to  be  at  issue  with  me.  In  mauaging  the  argument,  he 
shows  much  acuteness  and  plausibility.  Yet  if  we  accept  his  views  of  it, 
some  of  the  fairest  names  in  the  dark  period  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  of 
antiquity,  will  wear  a  very  ugly  aspect.  The  immorality  of  the  act  and 
of  the  actor  seem  to  me  two  very  different  things;  and  while  we  judge  the 
one  by  the  immutable  principles  of  right  and  wrong,  we  must  try  the  other 
by  the  fluctuating  standard  of  the  age.  The  real  question  is,  whether  a 
man  was  sincere,  and  acted  according  to  the  lights  of  his  age.  We  can¬ 
not  fairly  demand  of  a  man  to  be  in  advance  of  his  generation,  and  where 
a  generation  goes  wrong,  we  may  be  sure  that  it  is  an  error  of  the  head, 


LETTER  FROM  MR.  TYTLER. 


201 


not  of  the  heart.  For  a  whole  community,  including  its  best  and  wisest, 
will  not  deliberately  sanction  the  habitual  perpetration  of  crime.  This 
would  be  an  anomaly  in  the  history  of  man.  The  article  in  the  last  Lon¬ 
don  “  Quarterly,”  from  the  pen  of  Milman,  a  clergyman  of  the  Church  of 
England,  you  know,  expressly  approves  of  my  moral  estimate  of  Corte's. 
This  is  from  a  great  organ  of  Orthodoxy.  One  might  think  the  “Demo¬ 
cratic  ”  and  the  “  Quarterly  ”  had  changed  sides.  Rather  funny,  n’est  ce 
pas  ? 

As  to  the  question  of  fact,  —  what  Corte's  did,  or  did  not  do,  —  the 
‘Reviewer”  has  leaned  exclusively  on  one  authority,  that  of  the  chroni¬ 
cler  Diaz,  an  honest  man,  but  passionate,  credulous,  querulous,  and  writing 
the  reminiscences  of  fifty  years  back.  Truth  cannot  be  drawn  from  one 
source,  but  from  complicated  and  often  contradictory  sources. 

I  think  you  will  hardly  agree  that  the  Conqueror  deserved  censure  for 
not  throwing  off  his  allegiance  to  the  Emperor,  and  setting  up  for  himself. 
However  little  we  can  comprehend  the  full  feeling  of  loyalty,  I  think  we 
can  understand  the  baseness  of  treason.  But  I  will  not  trouble  you  with 
an  argument  on  this  topic.  I  must  say,  however,  that  I  respect  the 
“  Democratic,”  and  am  sure  the  “  North  American  ”  contains  few  articles 
written  with  more  ability  than  this,  much  as  I  differ  from  some  of  the 
positions  taken  in  it. 

I  have  run,  I  find,  into  an  unconscionable  length  of  line,  which  I  hope 
you  will  excuse.  Pray  remember  me  kindly  to  your  wife  and  daughter, 
and  believe  me, 

Very  sincerely,  your  friend, 

Wm.  H.  Phescott. 

FROM  PATRICK  FRASER  TYTLER,  ESQ. 

34  Devonshire  Place,  April,  1844. 

Mi  deak  Sik, 

Your  precious  present  of  the  “  History  of  Mexico,”  and  the  kind  letter 
which  accompanied  it,  found  me  entangled  with  my  ninth  and  last  volume 
of  the  “  History  of  Scotland,”  and  the  winding  up  my  imperfect  labors. 
This  must  be  my  apology  for  a  delay  which  has  weighed  heavily  on  my 
conscience,  but  I  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  dipping  into,  or  giving  a  hasty 
perusal  to  anything  proceeding  from  your  pen,  and  Cortes  was  deferred 
till  Elizabeth  and  King  Jamie  were  at  rest.  And  now,  my  dear  sir,  let 
me  thank  you  most  sincerely  for  the  delight  and  the  instruction  which  I 
have  received.  “Ferdinand  and  Isabella”  had  prepared  me  to  expect 
much ;  but  in  the  “  Conquest  of  Mexico  ”  you  have  outstript  yourself,  and 
produced  a  work  which  can  instruct  the  wisest,  and  charm  and  interest  the 
youngest  reader ;  which  combines  a  pathetic  and  stirring  narrative  with 
some  of  the  gravest  lessons  that  can  be  derived  from  history.  How  you 
should  have  achieved  such  a  work,  under  the  continued  privation  to  which 
you  allude  so  simply  and  beautifully  in  your  Preface,  is  to  me,  I  own, 
little  less  than  miraculous  ;  for,  composed  under  every  advantage  of  indi¬ 
vidual  consultation  and  research,  “  Mexico  ”  would  be  a  noble  monument 
of  labor  and  genius.  Long,  very  long  may  you  live  to  conquer  such  diffi¬ 
culties  as  would  overwhelm  any  inferior  mind. 

9* 


202 


WILLIAM  IIICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


Believe  me,  my  dear  Mr.  Prescott,  with  sincere  regard  and  respect,  most 
truly  yours, 


Patrick  Fbaseb  Tttleb. 


P.  S.  I  have  sent  along  with  this  the  ninth  and  last  volume  of  my 
“  History  of  Scotland,”  with  some  manuscripts,  letters,  and  extracts,  re¬ 
lating  to  the  times  of  Philip  and  Mary,  which  I  copied  from  the  originals 
in  the  State  Paper  Office.  These  are  entirely  at  your  service,  if  they  can 
be  of  the  least  assistance  in  the  researches  into  this  period  which  I  under¬ 
stood  you  at  one  time  contemplated. 


PROM  THE  REV.  H.  H.  MILMAN. 

Cloisters,  Westminster  Abbey,  April  12,  1844. 

My  dear  Sir, 

I  reproach  myself  for  having  delayed  so  long  to  acknowledge  the  note 
in  which  you  expressed  your  gratification  at  the  notice  of  your  Mexican 
work  in  the  “  Quarterly  Review.”  I  assure  you  that  nothing  could  give 
me  greater  pleasure  than  finding  an  opportunity  of  thus  publicly,  though 
anonymously,  declaring  my  high  opinion  of  your  writings.  Our  many 
common  friends  have  taught  me  to  feel  as  much  respect  for  your  private 
character  as  your  writings  have  commanded  as  an  author.  I  was  much 
amused,  after  I  had  commenced  the  article,  with  receiving  a  letter  from 
our  friend  Lord  Morpeth,  expressing  an  anxious  hope  that  justice  would 
be  done  to  tho  work  in  the  “  Quarterly  Review.”  Without  betraying  my 
secret,  I  was  able  to  set  his  mind  at  rest. 

Can  we  not  persuade  you  to  extend  your  personal  acquaintance  with 
our  men  of  letters,  and  others  whose  society  you  would  appreciate,  by  a 
visit  to  England  1  Perhaps  you  might  not  find  mucli  to  assist  you  in 
your  researches  (if  report  speaks  true,  that  you  are  engaged  on  the  Con¬ 
quest  of  Peru),  which  you  cannot  command  in  America,  yet  even  in  that 
respect  our  libraries  might  be  of  service.  But  of  this  I  am  sure,  that  no 
one  would  be  received  with  greater  cordiality  or  more  universal  esteem. 

If  this  be  impossible  or  impracticable,  allow  me  to  assure  you  that  I 
shall  be  delighted  if  this  opening  of  our  correspondence  should  lead  to  fur¬ 
ther  acquaintance,  even  by  letter.  I  shall  always  feel  the  greatest  interest 
in  the  labors  of  one  who  does  so  much  honor  to  our  common  literature. 
In  letters  we  must  be  brethren,  and  God  grant  that  we  may  be  in  political 
relations,  and  in  reciprocal  feelings  of  respect  and  regard. 

Believe  me,  my  dear  sir,  ever  faithfully  yours, 


H.  H.  Miuuas. 


CHAPTER  XYI. 


1844. 

Mb.  Prescott’s  Style.  —  Determines  to  have  one  of  his  own.  —  How 
he  obtained  it.  —  Discussions  in  Keviews  about  it.  —  Mr.  Ford.  — 
Writes  more  and  more  freely.  —  Naturalness.  —  His  Style  made 

ATTRACTIVE  BY  CAUSES  CONNECTED  WITH  HIS  INFIRMITY  OF  SlGHT.  — 

Its  final  Character. 

IT  has,  I  believe,  been  generally  thought  that  Mr.  Prescott’s 
style  reached  its  happiest  development  in  his  “  Conquest 
of  Mexico.”  No  doubt,  a  more  exact  finish  prevails  in  many 
parts  of  the  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  and  a  high  authority 
has  said  that  there  are  portions  of  “  Philip  the  Second  ”  written 
with  a  vigor  as  great  as  its  author  has  anywhere  shown.1  But 
the  freshness  and  freedom  of  his  descriptions  in  the  “  Mexico,” 
especially  the  descriptions  of  scenery,  battles,  and  marches,  are, 
I  think,  not  found  to  the  same  degree  in  either  of  his  other 
histories,  and  have  rendered  the  style  of  that  work  singularly 
attractive.  Certainly,  it  is  a  style  well  fitted  to  its  romantic 
subject,  although  it  may  be  one  which  it  would  have  been  ad¬ 
venturous  or  unwise  to  apply,  in  the  same  degree,  to  subjects 
from  their  nature  more  grave  and  philosophical. 

But  whatever  Mr.  Prescott’s  style  may  at  any  period  have 
been,  or  in  whichever  of  his  works  its  development  may  have 
been  most  successful,  it  was  unquestionably  the  result  of  much 
consideration  and  labor,  and  of  very  peculiar  modes  of  com¬ 
position.  With  what  self-distrust  he  went  back,  wThen  he  was 
already  above  twenty-five  years  old,  and  toiled  through  Mur¬ 
ray’s  English  Grammar,  and  Blair’s  Rhetoric,  as  if  he  were  a 
schoolboy,  and  how  he  followed  up  these  humble  studies  with 
a  regular  investigation  of  what  was  characteristic  in  all  the 
great  English  prose-writers,  from  Roger  Ascham  down  to  cur 
own  times,  we  have  already  seen.  It  was  a  deep  and  solid 


1  Letter  from  Dean  Milman. 


204 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


foundation,  laid  with  a  distinct  purpose,  that  cannot  be  mis¬ 
taken,  and  one  which,  in  years  subsequent,  well  repaid  the 
weary  hours  it  cost  him.  I  remember  how  conscientious  and 
disagreeable  these  labors  were,  for  he  sometimes  grew  impa¬ 
tient  and  complained  of  them.  But  he  persevered,  as  he  always 
did  in  what  he  deliberately  undertook. 

He  determined,  however,  at  the  same  time,  that,  whatever 
his  style  might  be,  it  should  be  his  own. 

“  Every  one,”  he  said  at  the  outset  of  his  severer  studies,  “  pours  out 
his  thoughts  best  in  a  style  suited  to  his  own  peculiar  habits  of  thinking. 

“  The  best  method  for  a  man  of  sense  to  pursue  is  to  examine  his  own 
composition,  after  a  sufficiently  long  period  shall  have  elapsed  for  him  to 
have  forgotten  it.  lie  will  then  be  in  a  situation  to  pronounce  upon  his 
own  works  as  upon  another’s.3  He  may  consult  one  or  two  good  friends 
in  private.  Their  opinions  will  be  valuable,  inasmuch  as  they  will  in  all 
probability  be  more  honest  and  sincere  than  a  printed  criticism,  and, 
moreover,  they  will  not  exert  the  same  depressing  influence  on  the  spirits 
that  a  reverence  for  public  criticism  is  apt  to  beget.  I  am  inclined  to 
believe  that  it  would  be  for  a  man’s  interest  as  an  author  never  to  consult 
a  printed  criticism  on  his  own  publications.” 3 

These  were  wise  and  wary  conclusions  to  have  been  reached 
so  early  in  his  literary  life,  and  they  were  substantially  adhered 
to  through  the  whole  of  it.  He  did  not,  however,  refrain  from 
reading  the  criticisms  that  appeared  on  his  larger  works,  be¬ 
cause  they  were  unfavorable.  None,  it  is  true,  were  really 
such.  But  whether  he  read  them  or  not,  he  judged  and  cor¬ 
rected  whatever  he  wrote  with  the  assistance  of  at  least  one 
friend,  exactly  in  the  way  he  has  here  indicated ;  maintaining, 
however,  at  all  times,  an  entire  independence  of  opinion  as  to 
his  own  style. 

Imitation  he  heartily  dreaded.  Five  years  before  he  began 
his  “Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  he  said:  “Model  myself  upon 
no  manner.  A  good  imitation  is  disgusting,  —  what  must  a 

J  “  In  order  to  correct  my  own  history  advantageously,”  be  said,  nine  years 
later,  when  he  was  just  beginning  to  write  his  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  “  I 
must  never  revise  what  I  have  written  until  after  an  interval  of  as  many  years 
as  possible.” 

8  I  think  the  tone  of  these  remarks  about  “  printed  criticisms  ”  is  owing  to 
certain  notices  of  the  “  Club-Room  ”  that  appeared  about  that  time,  and  which 
I  know  somewhat  annoyed  him.  He  would  hardly  have  made  them  later, 
when  he  wrote  an  article  on  Sir  Walter  Scott,  where  he  speaks  very  slight¬ 
ingly  of  reviewers  and  t.  ijr  criticisms. 


STYLE. 


205 


bad  one  be  ?  ”  “  Rely  on  myself  for  criticism  of  my  own  com¬ 

positions.”  “  Neither  consult  nor  imitate  any  model  for  style, 
but  follow  my  own  natural  current  of  expression.” 

This  sort  of  independence,  however,  made  him  only  more 
rigorous  with  himself.  When  he  had  been  four  months  em¬ 
ployed  on  his  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  he  made  this  memo¬ 
randum  :  — 

Two  or  three  faults  of  style  occur  to  mo  in  looking  over  some  former 
compositions.4  Too  many  adjectives  ;  too  many  couplets  of  substantives, 
as  well  as  adjectives,  and  periiaps  of  verbs ;  too  set ;  sentences  too  much 
in  the  same  mould  ;  too  formal  periphrasis  instead  of  familiar ;  sentences 
balanced  by  ands,  buts,  and  semicolons  ;  too  many  precise,  emphatic  pro¬ 
nouns,  as  these,  those,  which,  &c.,  instead  of  the  particles  the,  a,  &c. 

He  even  went  into  an  elaborate  inquiry  as  to  the  punc¬ 
tuation  he  should  adopt,  and  as  to  the  proper  use  of  capital 
initials,  recording  the  whole  with  care  for  his  own  govern¬ 
ment.  But,  after  all  his  pains,  he  failed  for  a  long  time  to 
satisfy  himself.  E  very  word  he  wrote  of  the  early  chapters  of 
the  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  ”  was  rewritten,  when  he  came  to 
prepare  that  work  for  the  press.  So  was  the  beginning  of  the 
“  Mexico,”  and  I  think  also  that  of  the  “  Peru.”  One  reason 
of  this,  especially  in  the  first  instance,  was,  that  he  thought  he 
had  been  too  elaborate.  He  early  said,  “  On  the  whole,  I  think, 
with  less  fastidiousness  I  should  write  better.”  And,  long  be¬ 
fore  he  published  his  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  he  deliberately 
recorded :  — 

With  regard  to  the  style  of  this  work  I  will  only  remark  that  most  of 
the  defects,  such  as  they  are,  may  be  comprehended  in  the  words  irop 
soigne.  At  least,  they  may  be  traced  to  this  source.  The  only  rule  is,  to 
write  with  freedom  and  nature,  even  with  homeliness  of  expression  occa- 
sionally,  and  with  alternation  of  long  and  short  sentences  ;  for  such 
variety  is  essential  to  harmony.  But,  after  all,  it  is  not  the  construction 
of  the  sentence,  but  the  tone  of  the  coloring,  which  produces  the  effect. 
If  the  sentiment  is  warm,  lively,  forcible,  the  reader  will  be  carried  along 
without  much  heed  to  the  arrangement  of  the  periods,  which  differs  ex¬ 
ceedingly  in  different  standard  writers.  Put  life  into  the  narrative,  if  you 
would  have  it  take.  Elaborate  and  artificial  fastidiousness  in  the  form  of 
expression  is  highly  detrimental  to  this.  A  book  may  be  made  up  of 
perfect  sentences  and  yet  the  general  impression  be  very  imperfect. 
In  fine,  be  engrossed  with  the  thought,  and  not  with  the  fashion  of 
expressing  it. 

4  Probably  articles  in  the  “  Club-Room  ”  and  the  “  North  American  Re¬ 
view.” 


206 


WILLIAM  EICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


As  he  advanced  with  his  work,  he  grew  less  and  less  anxious 
for  anything  like  a  formal  exactness  in  his  style,  or  rather,  per¬ 
haps  I  should  say,  he  became  more  and  more  persuaded  of  the 
importance  of  freedom. 

“  I  am  now  convinced  from  experience,”  he  says,  after  four  years’ 
trial,  “  that  fastidious  care  and  precision  as  to  style,  when  composing,  are 
fatal  to  excellence  as  well  as  to  rapidity  of  writing,  excluding  many  not 
merely  legitimate  expressions,  but  positive  graces  and  beauties  of  lan¬ 
guage,  as  well  as  nature  and  ease.” 

No  doubt  he  profited  all  his  life  by  the  pains  he  early  took 
with  his  style,  and  certainly  he  never  regretted  it,  minute  and 
troublesome  as  it  had  been.  Nor  did  he  ever  cease  to  scruti¬ 
nize  with  patience  what  he  had  freely  composed,  and  to  correct 
it,  even  in  the  proof-sheets,  with  severity.  But  undoubtedly, 
too,  his  first  draft  in  his  noctograph  was  made  every  year  with 
increasing  boldness  and  ease.  In  this  respect  he  was  like  a 
person  who  in  his  childhood  has  been  trained  to  good  manners, 
and  in  his  riper  years  proves  the  gentleness, of  his  breeding 
without  remembering  or  in  any  way  showing  the  rules  by 
which  he  had  been  drilled  to  it. 

But  at  hist  the  day  of  reckoning  came.  “  The  History  of 
Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  on  which  he  had  labored  so  long  and 
so  conscientiously,  was  published,  and  all  the  Reviews,  or 
almost  all  of  them,  made  a  point  of  discussing  its  style.  None 
complained,  except  the  “  London  Quarterly,”  in  which  a  some¬ 
what  dashing,  but  on  the  whole  brilliant  and  favorable  article 
appeared,  written  by  Mr.  Richard  Ford,  the  distinguished 
Spanish  scholar,  with  whom  afterwards  Mr.  Prescott  became 
personally  acquainted,  and  enjoyed  a  pleasant  correspondence. 
This  article  Mr.  Prescott  read  carefully  more  than  once.  It 
somewhat  disturbed  his  equanimity,  and  led  him  to  an  exami¬ 
nation  of  his  style  as  compared  with  that  of  English  writers 
whose  purity  and  excellence  are  acknowledged.  He  gave  sev 
eral  days  to  the  task,  the  unpleasantness  of  which  did  not 
prevent  him  from  making  it  thorough,  and  then  he  recorded 
his  deliberate  and  singularly  candid  opinion  as  follows :  — 


The  only  strictures  [in  this  article]  which  weigh  a  feather  with  me  are 
.hose  on  my  style,  in  forming  which  I  have  taken  much  pains,  and  of  the 


STYLE. 


207 


access  of  which  I  am  not  the  best  judge.  This  I  may  say,  however, 
mat  of  the  numerous  notices  of  the  work,  both  in  this  country  and  in 
Europe,  while  almost  all  have  commended  more  or  less  —  and  some  ex¬ 
cessively  —  the  diction,  none,  that  I  am  aware,  have  censured  it.  Many 
of  these  critics  are  scholars,  entirely  competent  to  form  a  judgment  on  its 
merits  ;  more  so,  to  judge  from  their  own  styles,  than  the  critic  in  ques¬ 
tion.  I  have  received  and  seen  many  letters  from  similar  sources  to  the 
same  effect.  Indeed,  the  work  could  lfot  have  obtained  its  rapid  and  wide 
popularity,  had  the  execution  been  bad  in  this  all-important  respect. 

I  say  not  this  to  lay  a  flattering  unction  to  my  soul,  but  to  put  myself 
on  my  guard  against  rashly  attempting  a  change  in  a  very  important 
matter  on  insufficient  grounds,  and  thus,  perhaps,  risking  for  the  future 
one  of  the  most  essential  elements  of  past  success.  Nevertheless,  I  have 
devoted  several  days  to  a  careful  scrutiny  of  my  defects,  and  to  a  com¬ 
parison  of  my  style  with  that  of  standard  English  writers  of  the  present 
time. 

Master  Eord  complains  of  my  text  as  being  too  formal,  and  my  notes 
as  having  too  much  levity.  This  shows  some  versatility  in  me,  at  all 
events.  As  regards  the  former,  it  seems  to  me,  the  first  and  sometimes 
the  second  volume  affords  examples  of  the  use  of  words  not  so  simple  as 
might  be ;  not  objectionable  in  themselves,  but  unless  something  is  gained 
in  the  way  of  strength  or  of  coloring  it  is  best  to  use  the  most  simple, 
unnoticeable  words  to  express  ordinary  things  ;  ex.  gr.  “  to  send  ”  is  better 
than  “  to  transmit  ”  ;  “  crown  descended  ”  better  than  “  devolved  ”  ; 
“  guns  fired  ”  than  “  guns  discharged  ” ;  “  to  name,”  or  “  call,”  than 
“to  nominate”;  “to  read”  than  “peruse”;  “the  term,”  or  “name,” 
than  “  appellation,”  and  so  forth.  It  is  better  also  not  to  encumber  the 
sentence  with  long,  lumbering  nouns;  as,  “the  relinquishment  of,”  in¬ 
stead  of  “  relinquishing  ”  ;  “  the  embellishment  and  fortification  of,” 
instead  of  “embellishing  and  fortifying”;  and  so  forth.  I  can  discern 
no  other  warrant  for  Master  Ford’s  criticism  than  the  occasional  use  of 
these  and  similar  words  on  such  commonplace  matters  as  would  make  the 
simpler  forms  of  expression  preferable.  In  my  third  volume,  I  do  not 
find  the  language  open  to  much  censure. 

As  to  the  notes,  it  is  doubtless  bad  taste  to  shock  the  current  of  feeling, 
where  there  is  much  solemnity  or  pathos  in  the  text,  by  unseasonable 
jests.  But  I  do  not  find  such  in  such  places.  In  regard  to  them  I  do 
not  find  anything  to  alter  in  any  particular  in  future. 

My  conclusion  from  the  whole  is,  —  after  a  very  honest  and  careful  ex¬ 
amination  of  the  matter,  —  that  the  reader  may  take  my  style  for  better 
or  worse  as  it  now  is  formed,  and  that  it  is  not  worth  while  for  me  to 
attempt  any  alteration  in  it  until  I  meet  a  safer  critic  to  point  out  its 
defects  than  Master  Ford. 

One  more  conclusion  is,  that  I  will  not  hereafter  vex  myself  with  anx¬ 
ious  thoughts  about  my  style  when  composing.  It  is  formed.  And  if 
there  be  any  ground  for  the  imputation  that  it  is  too  formal,  it  will  only 
be  made  worse  in  this  respect  by  extra-solicitude.  It  is  not  the  defect  to 
which  I  am  predisposed.  The  best  security  against  it  is  to  write  with  less 
■elaboration ;  a  pleasant  recipe,  which  conforms  to  my  previous  views 
This  determination  will  save  me  trouble  and  time.  Hereafter  what  1 


208 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PI1ESCOTT. 


print  shall  undergo  no  ordeal  for  the  style’s  sake,  except  only  the  gram¬ 
mar,  and  that  I  may  safely  trust  to  my  Harvard  Aldus.0 

To  the  latter  part  of  this  decision  he  did  not  adhere.  He 
asked  counsel  to  the  end  of  life  about  his  works  before  they 
were  printed,  and  corrected  them  with  no  less  care  than  he 
had  done  earlier.  But  he  never  interfered  with  the  general 
characteristics  of  his  style,  nor  permitted  any  friend  or  critic  to 
do  it. 

“  A  man’s  style,”  he  said,  as  a  final  settlement  of  his  opinion  on  the 
whole  matter,  —  “a  man’s  style,  to  be  worth  anything,  should  be  the  nat¬ 
ural  expression  of  his  mental  character,  and  where  it  is  not,  the  style  is 
either  painfully  affected,  or  it  falls  into  that  conventional  tone  which,  like 
a  domino  at  a  masquerade,  or  the  toue  of  good-breeding  in  society,  may 
be  assumed  by  anybody  that  takes  pains  to  acquire  it ;  fitting  one  person 
as  well  as  another,  and  belonging  to  anybody,  —  nobody.  The  best  con. 
sequence  of  such  a  style  is,  that  it  offends  no  one.  It  delights  no  one,  for 
it  is  commonplace.  It  is  true  that  genius  will  show  itself  under  this  coat¬ 
ing,  as  an  original  will  peep  out  under  a  domino.  But  this  is  not  the 
best  dress  for  it.  The  best,  undoubtedly,  for  every  writer,  is  the  form  of 
expression  best  suited  to  his  peculiar  turn  of  thinking,  even  at  some 
hazard  o-f  violating  the  conventional  tone  of  the  most  chaste  and  careful 
writers.  It  is  this  alone  which  can  give  full  force  to  his  thoughts.  Frank, 
lin’s  style  would  have  borne  more  ornament,  —  Washington  Irving  could 
have  done  with  less, — Johnson  and  Gibbon  might  have  had  much  less 
formality,  and  Hume  and  Goldsmith  have  occasionally  pointed  their  sen¬ 
tences  with  more  effect.  But,  if  they  had  abandoned  the  natural  sugges¬ 
tions  of  their  genius,  and  aimed  at  the  contrary,  would  they  not  in  mend¬ 
ing  a  hole,  as  Scott  says,  have  very  likely  made  two  1 

“  There  are  certain  faults  which  no  writer  must  commit :  false  meta¬ 
phors;  solecisms  of  grammar;  unmeaning  and  tautological  expressions; 
for  these  contravene  the  fundamental  laws  of  all  writing,  the  object  of 
which  nnst  be  to  express  one’s  ideas  clearly  and  correctly.  But,  within 
these  limits,  the  widest  latitude  should  be  allowed  to  taste  and  to  the 
power  of  unfolding  the  thoughts  of  the  writer  in  all  their  vividness  and 
originality.  Originality  —  the  originality  of  nature — compensates  for  a 
thousand  minor  blemishes. 

“  Of  one  thing  a  writer  may  be  sure,  if  he  adopt  a  manner  foreign  to  his 
mind  he  will  never  please.  Johnson  says,  ‘  Whoever  would  write  in  a 
good  style,  &c.,  & c.,  must  devote  his  days  and  nights  to  the  study  of  Ad¬ 
dison.’6  Had  he  done  so,  or  had  Addison  formed  his  style  on  Johnson’s, 

6  Mr.  Folsom. 

6  Johnson  is  a  little  more  cautious  in  his  phraseology,  but  the  substance  of 
nis  meaning,  so  far  as  it  was  needed  for  the  purpose  in  hand,  is  given  in  the 
text  with  sufficient  precision.  His  exact  words  are:  “Whoever  wishes  to 
attain  an  English  style,  familiar,  but  not  coarse ,  and  elegant,  but  not  ostenta¬ 
tious,  must  give  his  days  and  his  nights  to  the  volumes  of  Addison.”  U  is  the 
list  sentence  in  Addison's  Life,  and  was,  no  doubt,  intended,  by  its  position 
f  ir  a  sort  of  epigrammatic  etfect. 


STYLE. 


209 


what  a  ridiculous  figure  each  would  have  cut !  One  man’s  style  will  no 
more  fit  another,  than  one  man’s  coat,  or  hat,  or  shoes  will  fit  another. 
They  will  be  sure  to  be  too  big,  or  too  small,  or  too  something,  that  will 
make  the  wearer  of  them  ill  at  ease,  and  probably  ridiculous. 

“It  is  very  easy  for  a  cool,  caustic  critic,  like  Brougham,  to  take  to  pieces 
the  fine  gossamer  of  Dr.  Channing’s  style,7  which  has  charmed  thousands 
of  readers  in  this  country  and  in  Europe,  and  the  Doctor  would  be  a  fool 
to  give  up  his  glorious  mystifications  —  if  they  are  such  —  for  the  home- 
spun,  matter-of-fact  materials  out  of  which  a  plainer  and  less  imaginative 
mind  would  make  its  tissue.  It  would  be  impossible  for  Brougham  —  in 
his  way  of  writing,  tolerably  set  and  sometimes  pedantic,  with  an  occa 
sional  air  of  familiarity  that  matches  the  rest  of  the  sentences  badly 
enough — to  ascend  into  the  regions  of  the  true  sublime,  as  Dr.  Channing 
does,  or  to  call  up  such  a  strong  sense  of  the  beautiful.  It  may  be  the 
best  style  for  criticism,  however, — the  best  for  the  practical,  ordinary  uses 
of  life.  But  I  should  not  advise  the  Doctor  to  take  it  up,  and  still  less 
the  Ex-Chancellor  to  venture  into  the  Doctor’s  balloon,  or  —  as  his  ad¬ 
mirers  might  think  —  his  chariot  of  fire. 

“  How  many  varieties  of  beauty  and  excellence  there  are  in  this  world  ! 
As  many  in  the  mental  as  the  material  creation,  and  it  is  a  pedantic  spirit 
which,  under  the  despotic  name  of  taste,  would  reduce  them  all  to  one 
dull  uniform  level.  A  writer  who  has  succeeded  in  gaining  the  public 
favor  should  be  cautious  how  he  makes  any  innovation  in  his  habitual 
style.  The  form  of  expression  is  so  nicely  associated  with  the  idea  ex¬ 
pressed,  that  it  is  impossible  to  say  how  much  of  his  success  is  owing  to 
the  one  or  the  other.  It  is  very  certain,  however,  that  no  work  in  any  of 
the  departments  of  the  belles-lettres  can  dispense  with  excellence  of  style 
of  some  kind  or  other.  If  this  be  wanting,  a  work,  however  sound  or 
original  in  the  conception,  can  hardly  be  popular,  for  it  cannot  give  pleas 
ure  or  create  interest,  —  things  essential  in  every  kind  of  composition 
which  has  not  science  exclusively  for  its  end. 

“  Let  the  writer,  therefore,  who  has  once  succeeded  in  gaining  the  public 
suffrages,  —  the  suffrages  of  the  higher  public,  the  well-educated,  —  let 
him  beware  how  he  tampers  with  the  style  in  which  he  has  before  ap¬ 
proached  them.  Let  him  be  still  more  slow  to  do  this  in  obedience  to  the 
suggestions  of  a  few  ;  for  style  is  the  very  thing  which,  all-important  as 
it  is,  every  well-educated  man  is  competent  to  judge  of.  In  fact,  he  had 
better  not  make  any  serious  innovation  in  it,  unless,  like  Sharon  Turner 
or  Jeremy  Bentham,  it  is  the  object  of  such  universal  censure  as  shows  he 
has  succeeded  in  spite  of  it,  and  not  in  consequence  of  it.  Innovation  is 
not  reform  in  writing  any  more  than  in  politics.  The  best  rule  is  to  dis¬ 
pense  with  all  rules  except  those  of  grammar,  and  to  consult  the  natural 
bent  of  one’s  genius.” 

Saving  the  last  sweeping  sentence,  —  which  I  suspect  was 

1  This  refers  to  a  somewhat  bitter  review  of  Dr.  Channing,  in  the  “  Edin¬ 
burgh  ”  for  October,  1829,  by  Lord  Brougham,  —  a  man  who  could  no  more 
comprehend  Dr.  Channing,  as  an  eminent  person  who  knew  him  well  once 
said,  than  Dickens  could  comprehend  Laplace. 

N 


210 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


prompted  by  the  half-play  upon  the  word  “rules,”  and  to 
whose  doctrine  the  author  of  the  “  Conquest  of  Mexico  ”  and 
of  “  Philip  the  Second  ”  by  no  means  conformed  in  his  own 
practice,  —  I  do  not  know  where,  within  the  same  compass, 
so  much  good  sense  on  the  subject  of  style  is  uttered  with  so 
much  spirit  and  point. 

But,  whatever  we  may  think  of  the  opinions  contained  in 
these  striking  extracts,  one  fact  is  plain  from  them ;  I  mean 
that,  while  their  author  was  willing  and  even  glad  to  profit 
by  Mr.  F ord’s  criticisms  in  the  “  Quarterly  Review,”  he  was 
thoroughly  independent  in  the  use  he  made  of  them,  and  thor¬ 
oughly  determined  that,  at  all  hazards,  his  style  should  be  his 
own,  and  should  not  be  materially  modified  by  anybody’s  un¬ 
favorable  opinion  of  it,  unless  he  were  satisfied  the  opinion  was 
just.  In  this  he  was  right.  The  success  of  the  “Ferdinand 
and  Isabella  ”  had  no  doubt  given  him  increased  confidence  in 
his  manner  of  writing,  and  the  habit  of  composing  entirely  in 
his  memory  had  given  him  both  greater  freedom  and  greater 
facility.8  But,  even  before  this,  his  style  had  become  substan¬ 
tially  what  it  always  was  after  he  was  tolerably  advanced  in 
the  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.”  It  had,  in  fact,  from  its  first 
proper  formation,  been  settled  on  foundations  too  deep  to  be 
shaken. 

Instead,  therefore,  of  wilting  more  anxiously,  in  consequence 
of  Mr.  Ford’s  criticisms,  he  wrote  more  freely.  While  he  was 
employed  on  his  next  work,  “  The  Conquest  of  Mexico,”  he 
made  such  memoranda  as  the  following :  “  I  will  write  calamo 
currente,  and  not  weigh  out  my  words  like  gold-dust,  which 
they  are  far  from  being.”  “  Be  not  fastidious,  especially  about 
phraseology.  Do  not  work  for  too  much  euphony.  It  is  lost 
in  the  mass.”  “  Do  not  elaborate  and  podder  over  the  style.” 
“  Think  more  of  general  effect ;  don’t  quiddle.” 

When  the  “  Mexico  ”  was  published,  he  found  no  reason  to 
regret  the  indulgence  he  had  thus  granted  to  himself  in  its 

8  “  Tried  to  write  with  imperfect  pre-thinking ,  i.  e.  thinking,  as  Irving  said 
to  me,  with  a  pen.  It  won’t  do  for  bad  eyes.  It  requires  too  much  cor¬ 
recting.  The  correcting  in  the  mind  and  writing  from  memory  suit  my 
peculiarities  bodily,  and,  I  suspect,  mental,  better  than  the  other  process.’’ 
He  was  approaching  the  end  of  the  “  Conquest  of  Mexico  ”  when  he  wrot/- 
this. 


STYLE. 


211 


composition.  He  learned,  at  once,  from  the  Reviews  and  in 
many  other  ways,  that  his  manner  was  regarded  as  richer,  freer, 
more  animated  and  graceful  than  it  had  been  in  his  “  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella.”  “  This,”  he  says,  “  is  a  very  important  fact ;  for 
I  wrote  with  much  less  fastidiousness  and  elaboration.  Yet  I 
rarely  wrote  without  revolving  the  chapter  half  a  dozen  times 
in  my  mind.  But  I  did  not  pcdder  over  particular  phrases. 
Had  I  accepted  half  of  my  good  friend  Folsom’s  corrections, 
what  would  have  become  of  my  style  ?  Yet  they  had,  and 
always  will  have,  their  value  for  accurate  analysis  of  language 
and  thought.”  9 

From  this  time  to  the  end  of  his  life,  —  a  period  of  fifteen 
years,  —  he  makes  hardly  any  memoranda  on  his  style,  and 
none  of  any  consequence.  Nor  was  there  reason  why  he 
should.  His  manner  of  writing  was,  from  the  time  he  pub¬ 
lished  “  The  Conquest  of  Mexico,”  not  only  formed  but  sanc¬ 
tioned  ;  and  sanctioned,  not  only  by  the  public  at  large,  but 
by  those  whose  opinion  is  decisive.  Mr.  Milman’s  review  of 
that  work,  and  the  conclusion  of  one  in  the  “  Christian  Ex¬ 
aminer  ”  by  Mr.  George  T.  Curtis,  —  in  both  of  which  the 
remarks  on  his  style  are  very  beautiful,  and,  as  I  know,  gave 
Mr.  Prescott  much  pleasure,  —  left  no  doubt  in  his  mind 
touching  this  point.  Hallam,  too,  noticed  by  Sir  James  Mack¬ 
intosh  as  singularly  parsimonious  in  commendation,  wrote  to 
Mr.  Prescott,  December  29th,  1843  :  “  Your  style  appears  to 
me  to  be  nearly  perfect.”  With  these  judgments  before  him, 
and  others  hardly  less  valued  and  safe,  he  had  no  motive  for 
reconsidering  his  style,  if  he  had  desired,  for  any  reason,  to  do 
so.  But  he  was  too  wise  to  desire  it. 

It  may,  perhaps,  seem  singular  to  those  who  knew  him  little, 
that  such  a  style  should  have  been  formed  by  such  a  process  ; 
that  the  severe,  minute  rules  and  principles  in  which  it  was 
originally  laid  should  have  been,  as  it  were,  cavalierly  thrown 
aside,  and  a  manner,  sometimes  gay  and  sparkling,  sometimes 
rich  and  eloquent,  but  always  natural  and  easy,  should  have 

9  Mr.  Folsom  had  the  excellent  habit  of  noting  whatever  occurred  to  him 
as  doubtful,  no  less  than  what  he  regarded  as  a  blemish,  thinking  that  such 
minute  suggestions  were  due  to  the  author.  I  speak  as  one  who  has  profited 
by  his  skill  and  kindness. 


212 


WILLIAM  IIICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


been  the  result.  This,  however,  was  characteristic  of  his  whole 
moral  constitution  and  conduct,  and  was  in  harmony  with  the 
principles  and  habits  that  in  other  respects  governed  his  life. 
Thus  every  day  in  his  study  he  was  rigorous  with  himself,  and 
watchful  of  those  he  employed  ;  hut  in  his  family  and  with  his 
friends  nobody  was  more  free,  gay,  and  unexacting.  Those 
who  met  him  only  at  the  dinner-table,  or  in  general  society, 
would  be  surprised  to  learn  that  his  ■wine  even  there  was  care¬ 
fully  measured,  and  that,  if  he  seemed  to  indulge  as  much  as 
others  did,  and  to  enjoy  his  indulgence  more,  it  was  all  upon  a 
system  settled  beforehand,  just  as  much  as  was  his  spare  every 
day  diet  at  home.  How  vigilant  he  was  in  whatever  regarded 
his  character ;  how  strictly  he  called  himself  to  account  in 
those  solitary  half-hours  on  Sunday  when  he  looked  over  the 
secret  record  of  his  failings  and  faults,  we  have  seen ;  but  who 
ever  saw  restraint  in  his  manner  when  he  was  with  others  ; 
who  ever  saw  him  when  he  seemed  to  be  watchful  of  himself, 
or  to  be  thinking  of  the  principles  that  governed  his  life  ?  And 
just  so  it  was  with  his  style.  He  wrote  rapidly  and  easily. 
But  the  rules  and  principles  on  which  his  manner  rested,  even 
down  to  its  smallest  details,  had  been  so  early  and  so  deeply 
settled,  that  they  had  become  like  instincts,  and  were  neither 
recurred  to  nor  needed  when  he  was  in  the  final  act  of  compo¬ 
sition.10 

But  there  was  one  charm  in  Mr.  Prescott’s  style  which,  I 
think,  was  much  felt,  without  being  much  understood  by  the 
great  mass  of  his  readers.  He  put  not  a  little  of  his  personal 
character  into  it ;  a  great  deal  more,  I  think,  than  is  common 
with  writers  of  acknowledged  eminence.  The  consequence 
was,  that  the  multitudes  who  knew  him  in  no  way  except  as 
an  author  were  yet  insensibly  drawn  to  him  by  the  qualities 
that  made  him  so  dear  to  his  friends  as  a  man,  and  felt,  in 
some  degree,  the  attachment  that  is  commonly  the  result  only 

10  There  are  some  remarks  by  Mr.  Prescott  on  purity  of  style,  in  his  Memoir 
of  Mr.  John  Pickering  (Massachusetts  Historical  Society’s  Collections,  8vo, 
Third  Series,  Vol.  X.  pp.  210,  211),  which  are  valuable.  But  they  relate 
chiefly  to  the  danger  of  Americanisms,  as  they  are  called,  Mr.  Prescott  main¬ 
taining  that  “  one  and  the  same  language  cannot  have  two  standards  of 
purity.”  See  also  what  Mr.  Marsh  says  in  his  excellent  Lectures  on  the 
English  Language  (1860),  pp.  446  sqq. 


STYLE. 


213 


of  personal  intercourse.  They  seemed  to  know  him  more  than 
they  know  other  authors  whom  they  have  never  seen  ;  and,  as 
most  of  us  have  favorite  writers  without  being  able  always  to 
explain  Avhy  they  are  such,  he  became  peculiarly  so  to  many, 
who  yet  never  stopped  to  inquire  what  was  the  cause  of  an 
interest  so  agreeable  to  them. 

To  this  result  —  the  insensible  communication  to  his  works 
of  so  much  that  belonged  to  himself  personally  and  to  his  in¬ 
most  nature  —  two  circumstances,  immediately  connected  with 
the  infirmity  of  his  sight,  I  doubt  not,  contributed. 

The  first  of  these  circumstances  was  the  long  and  severe 
thought  which  he  felt  himself  compelled  to  give  in  the  course 
of  his  investigation  of  any  subject,  before  he  began  to  write  on 
it.  For,  after  he  had  collected  the  materials  for  any  chapter,  or 
other  less  definite  portion  of  his  subject,  —  that  is,  after  every¬ 
thing  about  it  in  the  way  of  authority  or  opinion  had  been 
read  to  him,  and  he  had  caused  it  all  to  be  embodied  in  short 
notes,  to  which  he  listened  again  and  again,  as  the  only  way  to 
make  himself  master  of  their  contents,  —  then  he  sat  down,  as 
we  have  seen,  in  silence,  and  gave  to  the  whole  the  benefit  of 
the  most  vigorous  action  of  his  own  mind.  Being  generally 
unable  to  look  at  all  at  the  notes  which  had  been  thus  prepared 
for  him,  he  turned  every  fact  or  circumstance  in  the  case  on 
which  he  was  employed  over  and  over  again  in  his  memory, 
and  examined  on  every  side  whatever  related  to  it.  While 
doing  this,  he  put  the  greatest  stress  he  was  able  to  put  on 
his  faculties,  and  urged  his  mind  to  the  most  concentrated  and 
unbroken  action,  so  as  to  make  sure  that  he  had  mastered  all 
the  details.  And  this  process  was  sometimes  long-continued. 
I  knew  one  instance  in  which,  after  preparatory  investigations 
which  occupied  only  two  days,  he  gave  yet  three  days  more  to 
the  mere  shaping  and  moulding  of  his  materials.  The  result 
was  sure.  The  general  outline  was  right,  if  it  was  in  his 
power  to  make  it  so.  But  no  other  process,  I  suppose,  could 
have  so  completely  digested  and  harmonized  his  materials,  or 
made  them  so  completely  a  part  of  himself ;  no  other  process 
could  have  tinged  his  works  so  largely  and  so  deeply  with  what 
was  most  characteristic  of  his  own  mind  and  temperament ; 
nothing  could  have  made  so  certain  to  the  reader  his  love  of 


214 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PEESCOTT. 


truth,  of  justice,  of  liberty,  of  toleration.  And  for  these  and 
other  kindred  qualities,  thus  insensibly  but  thoroughly  infused 
into  the  very  materials  and  fabric  of  his  tissues,  though  almost 
never  seen  on  their  surface,  the  reader,  after  a  little  experience, 
came  to  trust  the  author,  and  take  a  personal  interest  in  him, 
without  considering  or  knowing  exactly  why  he  did  it.  The 
chord  of  sympathy  between  them  was  invisible,  indeed,  but 
it  was  already  there,  and  it  was  strong  enough  to  hold  them 
together. 

But  thus  far  in  the  process  of  his  work  not  a  phrase  or  sen¬ 
tence  had  been  adjusted  or  thought  out.  The  composition,  as 
that  word  is  commonly  understood,  was  still  to  be  done.  And 
here  again  his  infirmity  was  a  controlling  influence,  and  is  to 
be  counted  among  the  secrets  of  a  manner  which  has  been 
found  at  once  so  simple  and  so  charming.  He  was  compelled 
to  prepare  everything,  down  to  the  smallest  details,  in  his 
memory,  and  to  correct  and  fashion  it  all  while  it  was  still 
held  there  in  silent  suspense ;  after  which  he  wrote  it  down, 
by  means  of  his  noctograph,  in  the  freest  and  boldest  manner, 
without  any  opportunity  really  to  change  the  phraseology  as 
he  went  along,  and  with  little  power  to  alter  or  modify  it 
afterwards.  This,  I  doubt  not,  was  among  the  principal  causes 
of  the  strength  as  well  as  of  the  grace,  ease,  and  attractiveness 
of  his  style.  It  gave  a  life,  a  freshness,  a  freedom,  both  to  his 
thoughts  and  to  his  mode  of  expressing  them.  It  made  his 
composition  more  akin  than  it  could  otherwise  have  been  to  the 
peculiar  fervor  and  happiness  of  extemporaneous  discussion. 
It  not  only  enabled  but  it  led  him  to  address  his  reader,  as  it 
were,  with  his  natural  voice,  so  that  those  who  never  heard  a 
word  from  his  lips  seemed  yet,  in  this  way,  to  find  something 
like  its  effects  in  the  flow  and  cadence  of  his  sentences. 

By  such  processes  and  habits,  Mr.  Prescott’s  style,  which  he 
began  to  form  with  a  distinct  purpose  in  1822,  became,  before 
he  had  finished  the  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  fifteen  years 
afterwards,  in  its  essential  characteristics,  what  it  is  in  all  his 
published  historical  works.  At  first,  this  mode  of  composi¬ 
tion  —  so  different  from  the  common  one  of  composing  while 
the  pen  is  in  the  author’s  hand,  excited  and  influenced  as  most 
writers  are  by  its  mechanical  movements,  and  by  the  associa- 


STYLE. 


215 


tions  they  awaken  —  was  difficult  and  disagreeable.  But  I 
never  knew  him  to  give  up  any  good  thing  for  either  of  these 
reasons.  On  the  contrary,  he  always  went  on  the  more  ear¬ 
nestly.  And  the  extent  to  which,  in  this  particular  case,  he 
succeeded,  was  remarkable.  For,  as  we  have  seen,  he  was 
able  to  carry  what  was  equal  to  sixty  pages  of  printed  matter 
in  his  memory  for  many  days,  correcting  and  finishing  its  style 
as  he  walked  or  rode  or  drove  for  his  daily  exercise. 

In  1839,  therefore,  after  going  carefully  over  the  whole 
ground,  he  said,  as  we  have  noticed,  “  My  conclusion  is,  that 
the  reader  may  take  my  style  for  better  or  for  worse,  as  it 
now  is.”  And  to  this  conclusion  he  wisely  adhered.  His  man¬ 
ner  became,  perhaps,  a  little  freer  and  easier,  from  continued 
practice,  and  from  the  confidence  that  success  necessarily  brings 
with  it ;  but,  in  its  essential  elements  and  characteristics,  it  was 
never  changed. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


1844-  1845. 


Bits  yon  ms  Portrait  and  Bust.  —  Visit  to  New  York.  —  Miscellane¬ 
ous  Reading.  —  Materials  for  the  “  Conquest  of  Peru.”  —  Begins 
to  write.  —  Death  of  his  Father.  —  Its  Effect  on  him.  —  Resumes 
Work.  —  Letter  from  Humboldt.  —  Election  into  the  French 
Institute,  and  into  the  Royal  Society  of  Berlin. 


ND  now,”  he  says  on  the  3d  of  February,  1844,  — 


“  now  I  propose  to  break  ground  on  ‘  Peru.’  I  shall 
work  the  mine,  however,  at  my  leisure.  Why  should  I 
hurry  ?  ”  Nor  did  he.  On  the  contrary,  he  procrastinated, 
as  usual,  from  an  unwillingness  to  begin  hard  work.  He  sat 
to  Mr.  Joseph  Ames  for  his  portrait  in  oils,  an  excellent  piece 
of  coloring,  now  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  James  Lawrence,  and 
to  Mr.  Richard  S.  Greenougli  for  a  bust,  now  in  the  possession 
of  Mrs.  Prescott,  beautiful  as  a  work  of  art,  and  very  valuable 
as  a  happy  likeness  at  the  period  when  it  was  taken.  But  the 
sittings  to  these  artists  consumed  a  good  deal  of  time,  and  broke 
up  many  days  in  February  and  March.  He  was,  however,  too 
willing  to  be  idle. 

In  the  middle  of  April  he  made  a  visit  to  New  York,  partly 
out  of  listlessness,  and  partly  in  order  to  settle  some  trifling 
affairs  with  his  publishers.  It  was  designed  to  fill  only  a  few 
days  ;  but,  by  the  solicitations  of  friends  and  the  eagerness  to 
become  acquainted  with  him  on  the  part  of  those  who  had  not 
earlier  enjoyed  that  pleasure,  it  proved  to  be  a  visit  of  a  fort¬ 
night,  and  a  very  gay  and  happy  one. 

“  Three  weeks  since,”  he  says  under  date  of  May  5th,  1844,  “  I  went 
to  New  York,  thinking  I  might  pass  a  couple  of  days.  It  turned  out 
twelve,  and  then  I  found  it  no  easy  matter  to  break  away  from  friends 
who,  during  my  stay  there,  feasted  and  feted  me  to  the  top  of  my  constitu¬ 
tion.  Not  a  day  in  which  I  rose  before  nine,  dined  before  five  or  six,  went 
to  bed  before  twelve.  Two  years  ago  I  did  not  know  half  a  dozen  New- 
Yorkers  ;  I  have  now  made  the  acquaintance  of  two  hundred  at  least,  and 


IDLENESS. 


217 


the  friendship,  I  trust,  of  many.  The  cordiality  with  which  I  was  greeted 
is  one  of  the  most  gratifying  tributes  I  have  received  from  my  country 
men,  coming  as  it  did  from  ail  classes  and  professions.  It  pleased  me 
that  the  head  of  the  Roman  Catholic  clergy,  Archbishop  Hughes,  a 
highly  respectable  person,  should  openly  thank  and  commend  me  for 
1  the  liberality  I  had  shown  in  my  treatment  of  the  Catholics.’ 1  I  have 
stood  the  tug  of  social  war  pretty  well.  Yet,  on  the  whole,  it  was  too 
long  a  time  for  such  excitement.  Five  days  should  be  the  limit.  The 
faculties  become  weary,  and  the  time  does  not  move  so  fleetly  as  in  the 
regular  occupations  at  home.  How  could  I  stand  then  a  season  in  Lon¬ 
don  t  I  shall  not  try.  Nor  shall  I  ever  exceed  two,  or  at  most  three 
days,  in  a  great  American  city.” 

During  all  this  time  - —  I  mean  during  the  autumn,  winter, 
and  spring  of  1843  and  1844  —  he  thought  very  little  of  his 
“  Conquest  of  Peru.”  He  even,  for  a  large  part  of  the  peiiod, 
made  few  entries  among  his  literary  memoranda ;  and  when 
he  began  the  record  again,  after  an  absolute  silence  of  almost 
three  months,  he  says,  in  relation  to  this  unwonted  neglect, 
that  it  was  indeed  a  very  long  interval,  and  that  such  long  in¬ 
tervals  were  proof  either  of  great  occupation  or  great  idleness. 
“  The  latter,”  he  adds,  “  will  account  for  this.” 

He  had,  however,  not  been  so  wholly  idle  as  such  self- 
reproach  might  seem  to  imply.  He  had  listened  to  the  Inca 
Garcilasso’s  important  Commentaries  on  the  earliest  history 
and  traditions  of  Peru ;  to  some  of  the  more  familiar  and  com¬ 
mon  writers  who  cover  the  same  ground ;  and  to  a  manuscript 
of  Sarmiento,  President  of  the  Royal  Council  of  the  Indies, 
who  had  travelled  in  that  part  of  South  America  immediately 
after  its  conquest,  and  who  is  one  of  the  most  ample  and  trust¬ 
worthy  authorities  for  its  early  condition.  It  was  not,  indeed, 
much  to  have  accomplished  in  so  long  a  time,  nor  was  any  of  it 
difficult  or  disagreeable  ;  but  his  interruptions  had  been  many 
and  inevitable.  During  his  father’s  illness  he  had  watched 

1  In  connection  with  this  well-deserved  commendation  from  a  man  so  emi 
nent,  may  be  aptly  mentioned  a  remark  which  the  late  President  John  Quincy 
Adams  made  to  Mr.  Edmund  B.  Otis,  who,  during  four  years,  rendered  ex¬ 
cellent  and  kind  ser  dee  to  Mr.  Prescott,  as  his  secretary.  “  Mr.  Adams  said, 
that  Mr.  Prescott  possessed  the  two  great  qualifications  of  an  historian,  who 
should  be  apparently  without  country  and  without  religion.  This,”  Mr.  Otis 
adds,  “  he  explained  by  saying  that  the  history  should  not  show  the  political 
or  religious  bias  of  the  historian.  It  would  be  difficult,  Mr.  Adams  thought, 
to  tell  whether  Mr.  Prescott  were  a  Protestant  or  a  Catholic,  a  monarchist  or 
a  republican.”  See  Appendix  (C). 

10 


218 


WILLIAM  IIICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


him  with  a  care  that  interfered  not  a  little  with  his  own  regu¬ 
lar  occupations,  and  during  his  convalescence  had  accompanied 
him  in  many  a  long  walk,  from  which  he  derived  no  little 
pleasure  and  consolation.  But  his  father,  whose  faculties  had 
not  been  impaired  by  his  illness,  was  now  restored  to  as  much 
physical  health  as  he  was  ever  likely  to  enjoy,  and,  from  his 
nature,  rather  preferred  to  be  independent  in  his  out-of-door 
exercise  than  to  be  assisted  or  accompanied.  The  son,  there¬ 
fore,  after  nine  months  of  ‘literary  loafing,”  as  he  called  it, 
instead  of  three,  which  he  had  proposed  to  himself,  turned 
resolutely  to  his  new  work. 

He  did  not  need  to  make  a  collection  of  materials  for  it. 
That  had  been  done  when  he  gathered  his  ample  stores  for 
the  “  Conquest  of  Mexico.”  His  first  studies  were  on  Cieza 
de  Leon,  the  careful  geographer  of  Peru,  contemporary  almost 
with  its  conquest ;  on  Diego  F ernandez  de  Palencia,  a  some¬ 
what  tedious  chronicler  of  the  country  at  the  same  period ; 
on  Fernando  Montesinos,  who  lived  a  century  later,  and  is 
much  less  trustworthy  ;  and  on  the  crude  collections  of  Lord 
Kingsborougli,  made  in  our  own  time,  but  marked  with  the 
credulity  and  rashness  of  the  time  of  the  Pizarros.  This  read¬ 
ing,  and  more  of  the  same  sort  during  the  summer  of  1844,  all 
related  to  the  mythical  rather  than  to  the  historical  period  of 
Peruvian  Antiquities  ;  and  before  the  month  of  August  was 
ended  the  mere  notes  and  references  for  this  part  of  his  subject 
filled  above  three  hundred  compact  pages.  It  was  not,  indeed, 
so  important  as  the  corresponding  period  of  the  Mexican  an¬ 
nals,  but  it  was  interesting,  and  had  its  peculiar  attractions. 
He  made  his  plan  for  it,  accordingly,  and,  having  accumulated 
notes  to  the  amount  of  eighty  large  sheets,  allowed  five  or  six 
months  for  the  work,  and  a  hundred  pages.  But  here,  as  in 
the  case  of  the  “  Mexico,”  he  was  mistaken,  although  his  error 
was  less  considerable.  It  took  eight  months  and  made  a  hun¬ 
dred  and  eighty  pages ;  more  troublesome  and  disagreeable 
from  the  nature  of  the  subject  than  any  other  part  of  the  work, 
and  in  some  respects  more  so  than  the  Introduction  to  the 
“  Conquest  of  Mexico.” 

But  before  he  could  put  pen  to  paper,  the  course  of  his 
studies  was  again  interrupted,  first  by  the  death  of  his  brother 


IDLENESS. 


219 


Edward,2  which  occurred  at  sea  on  a  voyage  to  Europe,  and 
afterwards  by  a  journey  to  Niagara  on  account  of  his  daughter’s 
health,  which  for  some  months  had  given  cause  for  anxiety. 
At  last,  however,  after  reading  Alfieri’s  life  to  quicken  his 
courage,  he  began  his  work  in  earnest.  “  I  find  it  very  diffi 
cult,”  he  said,  “  to  screw  up  my  wits  to  the  historic  pitch ;  so 
much  for  the  vagabond  life  I  have  been  leading ;  and  breaking 
ground  on  a  new  subject  is  always  a  dreary  business.” 

He  wrote  the  first  sentences  on  the  12th  of  August,  1844,  a 
little  more  than  a  year  from  the  time  when  he  had  completed 
his  “  Conquest  of  Mexico.”  He  was  at  Nahant,  where  —  what 
with  the  rheumatism  which  often  troubled  him  much  in  that 
damp  climate,  and  the  interruptions  of  company,  which  at  such 
a  watering-place  could  not  always  be  avoided,  he  found  his 
progress  both  slow  and  uneasy.  But  he  made  vigorous  efforts 
with  himself,  and  succeeded,  before  he  left  the  sea-shore,  so  far 
as  to  make  the  following  record  :  — 

Industry  good,  and  with  increased  interest.  Spirits  —  an  amiable  word 
for  temper  —  improved.  Best  recipe,  occupation  with  things,  not  self. 

At  Pepperell,  where,  as  was  his  custom,  he  passed  the  early 
autumn,  he  pursued  his  labors  in  a  manner  still  more  satisfac¬ 
tory  to  himself. 

“Industry,”  he  says,  referring  to  the  good  effects  of  a  tranquil  country- 
life,  —  “  industry,  as  usual,  excellent ;  interest  awakened  ;  progress  sen¬ 
sible  ;  the  steam  is  up.” 

And  again  a  few  days  later  :  — 

1  have  got  my  working-tackle  on  board,  and  should  be  delighted  not 
to  quit  these  highland  solitudes  till  they  are  buried  under  snow-drifts. 
Now,  how  glorious  they  are  to  eye  and  ear  and  every  other  sense,  — 
the  glories  of  an  American  autumn.  Surely  a  man  is  better,  and  forms  a 
better  estimate  of  life  and  its  worthlessness  here  in  the  country  than  any¬ 
where  else. 

The  town,  as  he  anticipated,  was  less  favorable  to  work. 
When  he  had  been  there  some  time,  he  noted :  “  Nearly  three 
weeks  in  town,  and  not  looked  at  ‘  Peru.’  The  old  sin  of  the 
town.  Shall  I  never  reform  ?  ”  Still,  after  the  pressure  of 

2  For  a  notice  of  his  brother  Edward,  see  Appendix  (A),  on  the  Prcsccit 
family. 


220 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


affairs  which  had  accumulated  during  his  absence  was  re- 
moved,  and  a  little  gay  lounging  among  his  friends  was  over, 
he  was  going  on  well  again,  when  he  was  stopped  by  a  great 
sorrow.  His  father  died  suddenly  on  Sunday  morning,  the 
8th  of  December,  and  an  hour  afterwards  I  received  from  him 
the  following  note  :  — 

My  dear  Friend, 

I  write  to  tell  you,  what  you  may  learn  from  other  sources,  and  what 
will  give  you  much  pain.  My  father  was  taken  with  a  fainting  turn  this 
morning,  about  eight  o’clock,  which  has  terminated  fatally.  Nathan, 
who  takes  this,  will  give  you  the  account. 

We  are  all  very  tranquil,  as  my  writing  to  you  now  shows.  Do  not 
come  till  after  church,  as  nothing  can  be  done  now. 

Your  affectionate 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 

1  went  to  him,  of  course,  as  soon  as  the  morning  services 
were  over,  and  found  him  tranquil,  indeed,  but  more  tenderly 
and  more  easily  moved  than  I  had  ever  seen  him  before,  and 
more  than  I  ever  saw  him  afterwards.  His  mind  was  sorrow¬ 
fully  filled  with  the  thought  of  the  great  tie  that  had  been  so 
suddenly  broken,  and  of  the  consequences  that  must  follow. 
He  could  talk  only  of  his  father  or  of  his  desolate  mother ; 
and,  although  I  saw  him  again  before  the  day  was  ended,  and 
each  succeeding  day  afterwards  for  some  time,  it  was  still  the 
same.  He  was  unable  to  think  continuously  on  any  other 
subject.  There  was,  however,  nothing  violent  or  extravagant 
in  his  sorrow.  He  saw  tilings  as  they  really  were.  He  did 
not  seem  so  much  oppressed  with  the  idea  of  his  immediate 
loss,  as  with  the  idea  that  it  was  one  he  should  never  cease  to 
feel.  And  in  this  he  judged  himself  rightly.  He  was  always 
afterwards  more  or  less  sensible  of  the  void  that  had  been  left 
by  the  death  of  his  father,  and  recurred  to  it  frequently  in 
conversation  with  me,  down  even  to  one  of  the  last  times  I 
saw  him. 

The  evening  after  the  funeral  there  seemed  to  be  more  of 
bitterness  in  his  grief  than  there  had  been  before.  The  day 
had  been  raw  and  cheerless,  with  much  wind  and  dust  in  the 
streets  as  the  procession  passed  along.  His  eye  had  been  seri¬ 
ously  troubled  by  it,  and  was  still  painful.  I  noticed  how  close 


LETTER  FROM  BARON  HUMBOLDT. 


221 


ne  had  followed  the  body  as  we  turned  in,  all  on  foot,  to  enter 
the  crypt  under  St.  Paul’s  Church,  and  that  his  head  at  that 
moment  was  almost  brought  in  contact  with  the  sad  drapery 
of  the  hearse.  “  Yes,”  he  said,  “  my  eye  suffered  very  much 
from  the  wind  and  dust  that  came  out  of  the  passage,  and  he 
protected  me  to  the  last,  as  he  always  had.” 

It  was  long  before  he  could  settle  himself  to  his  work 
again.  The  world  had  assumed  a  new  look  to  him,  and  its 
ways  seemed  harder  to  tread.  Burdens  were  hereafter  to  rest 
on  his  shoulders  which  had  earlier  been  borne  by  another. 
Counsels  were  to  fail  on  which  he  had  always  relied.  Much 
business  was  to  be  done  requiring  both  time  and  thought. 
More  than  two  months,  therefore,  elapsed  before  he  returned 
to  his  literary  labors,  and  when  he  did  he  found  it  impossible 
to  recover,  in  a  manner  at  all  satisfactory  to  himself,  the 
thoughts  with  which  he  had  intended  to  go  on,  and  which, 
before  his  father’s  death,  lay  all  settled  and  spread  out  in  his 
memory.  He  found,  as  he  said,  that  they  had  been  effaced  as 
completely  as  if  they  had  been  wiped  out  by  a  sponge.  He 
began,  therefore,  a  new  chapter,  without  absolutely  finishing 
the  one  on  which  he  had  till  then  been  employed. 

He  was  soon  cheered  on  his  course  by  the  following  letter 
from  Alexander  von  Humboldt,  which  he  justly  deemed  “  as 
high  a  recompense  as  he  could  receive  in  this  way  ” :  — 

Monsieur, 

Dans  la  crainte,  que  peut  etre  la  premiere  expression  de  ma  juste  ad¬ 
miration,  addressee,  au  moment  ou  je  reyevais  votre  important  ouvrage  sur 
le  Me'xique,  ne  vous  soit  pas  parvenue,  je  donnc  ce  peu  de  lignes  a  Mons 
Lieber,  qui  nous  est  cher,  et  qui  part  pour  votre  beau  pays.  Apres  avoir 
deploye'  le  grand  et  noble  talent  d’historien  de  l’Europe  dans  la  Yie  de 
Ferdinand  et  d’Isabelle,  —  apres  avoir  retrace  des  evenements  que  les  ca- 
lamites  rccentes  de  l’Espagne  rendent  doublement  instructives  aux  peuples 
“  qui  oublient  et  apprenncnt  peu,”  —  Mons.  Prescott  a  daigne  jetter  une 
vive  lumiere  sur  un  pays  qui  a  eu  l’independance  avant  les  ele'ments  de  la 
liberte  civile  ;  mais  auquel  je  tiens  par  tous  les  liens  de  la  reconnaissance 
et  des  souvenirs,  croyant  avoir  le  faible  merite  d’avoir  fait  connaitre  le  pre¬ 
mier,  par  des  observations  astronomiques  et  des  mesures  de  hauteur,  la 
merveilleuse  configuration  du  Me'xique,  et  le  reflet  de  cette  configuration 
sur  les  progres  et  les  entraves  de  la  civilization.  Ma  satisfaction  a  ete 
bien  grande  en  e'tudiant  ligne  par  ligne  votre  excellent  ouvrage,  Monsieur. 
On  est  un  juge  se'vere,  souvent  enclin  a  1’injustice,  lorsqu’on  a  eu  la  vi- 
rante  impression  des  lieux  et  que  1’ctude  de  l’histoire  antique  dont  je  me 


222 


WILLIAM  IIICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


euis  oeoupec  avec  predilection  a  ete  suivie  sur  le  sol  meme,  ou  une  partie 
des  grands  evenemcnts  s’est  passe'e.  La  seve'rite  est  desarmee,  Monsieur, 
a  la  lecture  de  votre  “  Conquete  du  Me'xique.”  Yous  peignez  avec  suc- 
ces  parce  que  vous  avez  vu  des  yeux  de  l’e'sprit,  du  sens  inte'rieur.  C’est 
UB  bonheur  pour  moi,  citoyen  du  Mexique,  d’avoir  vecu  assez  longtemps 
pour  vous  lire  ;  pour  vous  parler  de  ma  reconnaissance  des  expressions  de 
liienveillancc  dont  vous  avez  honore  mon  nom.  L’Amerique  Espagnole, 
bien  malheureuse  aujourd’hui,  dechiree  par  d’ignobles  guerres  intestines  — 
trop  grand. i  heureusement,  pour  que  l’importation  d’un  joug  e'tranger  soit 
possible  —  trouvera  avec  toute  societe  humaine  son  e'quilibre  inte'rieur. 
Je  ne  desespere  pas.  Je  dirai  avec  Christophe  Columb,  dans  le  reve  a  la 
riviere  de  Belem  :  Que  le  Seigneur  tient  dans  son  pouvoir  une  longue 
he're'dite  d’anne'es  ;  muchas  heredades  tiene  el  Scnor  y  grandisimas.3  Si 
je  n’etais  tout  occupe  de  mon  Cosmos  —  d’une  Physique  du  Monde  — 
que  j’ai  l’imprudence  d’imprimer,  j’aurais  voulu  traduire  votre  ouvrage 
dans  la  langue  de  mon  pays. 

Je  suis  heureux  de  savoir  que  votre  sante  s’est  solidement  amelioree,  et 
que  nous  pouvons  esperer  vos  travaux  sur  le  Perou  et  son  antique  et  mys- 
terieuse  civilization. 

Agre'ez,  Monsieur,  je  vous  prie,  l’expression  rcnouvelce  du  respectueux 
attachement  avec  lequel  j’ai  l’honneur  d’etre, 

Monsieur, 

Votre  tres  humble  et  trcs  obcissant  serviteur, 

Alexandre  de  Humboldt. 

A  Sans  Souci,  ce  26  Octobre,  1844. 

On  devrait  se  rappeler  un  jour,  que  lorsque  j’ai  publie  mon  Atlas  du 
Mexique  et  l’Essai  Politique  il  n’existait  aucune  autre  carte  du  pays,  que 
celle  qu’Alzate  a  offert  a  l’Aeademie  des  Sciences  a  Paris. 

Such  a  letter  was,  as  he  intimated,  an  honor  second  to  few 
that  he  could  receive.  Other  honors,  however,  were  not  want¬ 
ing.  Four  months  later  —  in  February,  1845  —  ne  was  elected 
into  the  French  Institute,  as  a  Corresponding  Member  of  the 
Academy  of  Moral  and  Political  Science,  and  into  the  Royal 
Society  of  Berlin,  as  a  Corresponding  Member  of  the  Class  of 
Philosophy  and  History.  He  had  no  intimation  of  either  until 

8  The  words  which  Humboldt  has  here  cited  from  memory,  and  which  he 
has  a  little  spiritualized,  are  found  in  a  letter  which  Columbus  wrote  from 
Jamaica,  July  7,  1603,  to  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  giving  an  eloquent  and 
solemn  account  of  a  vision  which  he  believed  himself  to  have  had  on  the 
coast  of  Veragua,  —  one  of  the  magnificent  illusions  which  occasionally  filled 
his  mind,  and  persuaded  him  that  he  was  inspired  and  commissioned  of 
Heaven  to  discover  the  passage  to  the  Indies,  and  perhaps  the  terrestrial 
Paradise.  The  exact  words  referred  to  by  Humboldt  are,  muchas  heredade* 
tiene  El  grandisimas.  They  refer  to  God,  and,  with  the  context,  intimate 
that  Columbus  himself  was  to  receive  some  of  these  reserved  “hereda¬ 
des,”  —  possessions,  or  inheritances. 


ELECTED  INTO  THE  ROYAL  SOCIETY  OF  BERLIN.  223 


he  received  the  diploma  announcing  it ;  and  it  was  not  until 
some  weeks  afterwards,  April  23d,  1845,  that  he  made  the 
following  entry  among  his  literary  memoranda :  — 

In  my  laziness  I  forgot  to  record  the  greatest  academic  honor  I  have 
received,  —  the  greatest  I  shall  ever  receive,  —  my  election  as  Correspond¬ 
ing  Member  of  the  French  Institute,  as  one  of  the  Academy  of  Moral  and 
Political  Science.  I  was  chosen  to  fill  the  vacancy  occasioned  by  the 
death  of  the  illustrious  Navarrete.  This  circumstance,  together  with  the 
fact,  that  I  did  not  canvass  for  the  election,  as  is  very  usual  with  the  can¬ 
didates,  makes  the  compliment  the  more  grateful  to  me. 

By  the  last  steamer  I  received  a  diploma  from  the  Royal  Society  of 
Berlin  also,  as  Corresponding  Member  of  the  Class  of  Philosophy  and 
History.  This  body,  over  which  Humboldt  presides,  and  which  has  been 
made  famous  by  the  learned  labors  of  Niebuhr,  V on  Raumer,  Ranke,  &c., 
&c.,  ranks  next  to  the  Institute  among  the  great  Academies  of  the  Conti¬ 
nent.  Such  testimonies,  from  a  distant  land,  are  the  real  rewards  of  a 
scholar.  What  pleasure  would  they  have  given  to  my  dear  father  1  I  feel 
as  if  they  came  too  late  ! 

Similar  remarks,  as  to  the  regret  he  felt  that  his  father  could 
no  longer  share  such  honors  with  him,  he  had  made  earlier  to 
more  than  one  of  his  friends,  with  no  little  emotion.4  They 
were  honors  of  which  he  was  always  naturally  and  justly 
proud,  —  for  they  had  been  vouchsafed  neither  to  Bowditch 
nor  to  Irving,  —  but  sorrow  for  a  time  dimmed  their  bright¬ 
ness  to  him.  As  Montaigne  said  on  the  death  of  Boetie, 
“We  had  everything  in  common,  and,  now  that  he  is  gone,  I 
feel  as  if  I  had  no  right  to  his  part.” 

Of  the  election  at  Berlin,  which,  according  to  the  diploma, 
was  made  in  February,  1845,  I  have  no  details  ;  but  at  Paris, 
I  believe,  the  forms  were  those  regularly  observed.  On  the 
18th  of  January,  1845,  M.  Mignet,  on  behalf  of  the  Section 
of  History,  reported  to  the  Academy  of  Moral  and  Political 
Science  the  names  of  those  who  were  proposed  as  candidates 

4  This  seems,  indeed,  to  have  been  his  first  feeling  on  receiving  the  intelli¬ 
gence.  Dr.  George  Hayward,  the  distinguished  surgeon,  met  him  on  the 
steps  of  the  post-office  as  he  came  with  the  official  notice  of  his  election  to 
the  Institute  in  his  hand,  and  told  me  a  few  days  afterwards,  that,  while  Mr. 
Prescott  showed  without  hesitation  how  agreeable  to  him  was  the  intelligence 
he  had  received,  he  added  immediately  a  strong  expression  of  his  regret  that 
the  unsolicited  and  unexpected  honor  had  not  come  to  him  before  the  death 
of  his  father.  Mr.  Parsons,  Mr.  Prescott’s  early  friend,  has  sent  me  a  state¬ 
ment  somewhat  similar.  Both  agree  entirely  with  my  own  recollections  and 
those  of  his  family,  as  to  his  feelings  at  the  same  period. 


224 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


to  fill  the  place  of  Navarrete,  who  had  died  the  preceding 
year ;  viz.  in  the  first  rank,  Mr.  Prescott ;  in  the  second  rank, 
ex  cequo,  Mr.  Turner  and  Mr.  Bancroft ;  in  the  third,  Mr. 
Dahlmann.  M.  Mignet  at  this  meeting  explained  the  grounds 
for  his  report,  and  the  President  inquired  whether  the  Acad¬ 
emy  would  confine  itself  to  the  list  of  candidates  thus  offered 
M.  Berenger,6  without  proposing  to  add  the  name  of  M.  Cesare 
Cantu,  called  the  attention  of  the  Section  to  his  claims.  M. 
Mignet  and  M.  Cousin  then  spoke,  and  the  subject  was  passed 
over.  At  the  next  meeting,  —  that  of  January  25th,  —  when 
the  subject  came  up  in  course,  no  discussion  took  place ;  and 
on  the  1st  of  February,  when  the  election  was  made,  Mr.  Pres¬ 
cott  was  chosen  by  eighteen  ballots  out  of  twenty,  one  being 
for  Mr.  Bancroft  and  one  blank. 

In  a  letter  of  business  to  his  friend,  Colonel  Aspinwall,  at 
London,  dated  March  30th,  Mr.  Prescott  says,  with  his  accus¬ 
tomed  frankness  :  — 

Yon  will  be  pleased  to  learn  that  by  the  last  steamer  I  received  a  di¬ 
ploma  of  Corresponding  Member  of  the  Institute  of  France,  to  fill  the. 
vacancy  occasioned  by  the  death  of  the  Spanish  historian  Navarrete. 
This  academic  honor  is  often  canvassed  pretty  zealously  for ;  but,  as  I 
got  it  without  the  asking  on  my  part,  it  is  the  more  welcome.  I  don’t 
know  how  they  came  to  think  of  an  out-of-the-way  Yankee  for  it.® 


MEMORANDA. 

June  30,  1844.  — Nahant,  where  lighted  the  28th.  Returned  from  my 
tour  to  Trenton  and  Niagara  Falls  on  the  25th,  being  fifteen  days.  A 
most  romantic  excursion  of  eleven  hundred  miles  through  the  whole 
length  of  the  great  Empire  State,  which  the  traveller  sees  in  all  its  glory 
of  vegetation  and  wonderful  fertility,  —  its  noble  streams,  lofty  woods, 
and  matchless  cataracts,  —  the  valley  of  the  Mohawk,  the  broad  Hudson, 
with  its  navy  of  little  vessels,  the  Erie  Canal,  winding  like  a  silver  snake 
through  its  cultivated  fields,  —  its  cities  and  villages  rising  up  like  fairy 
creations  in  the  wide  expanse  of  its  clearings,  and  all  the  evidences  of  a 
busy,  thriving  population  amidst  the  wreck  of  gigantic  forests,  that  show 
the  contest  with  savage  nature  had  not  been  of  very  long  date.  It  is 
indeed  the  “  Empire  State,”  and  Niagara  is  a  fitting  termination  to  such 
a  noble  tour.  But  I  grow  twaddling.  A  pleasant  tour  of  a  couple  ot 
weeks  —  not  more  —  with  pleasant  companions  (mine  were  so),  is  not  a 

®  Not  the  poet,  who  spelt  his  name  differently,  but  a  distinguished  jurist 
*nd  statesman. 

®  See  Appendix  (D),  for  other  literary  honors. 


LITERARY  ACTIVITY. 


225 


Dad  break  intc  tbs  still  life  of  the  student.  It  gives  zest  to  the  quiet 
course  of  literary  labor.  Yet  it  is  not  easy,  after  such  a  vagabond  life, 
to  come  up  to  the  scratch.  The  hide  gets  somewhat  insensible  to  the 
spur  of  lofty  ambition,  —  that  last  infirmity  which  the  poet  speaks  of. 
Yet  may  I  never  be  insensible  to  it. 

July  21,  1844.  —  Industry  and  literary  ardor  improve.  Been  reading, 
or  rather  listening  to,  Alfieri’s  Life,  —  a  strange  being,  with  three  ruling 
passions,  literary  glory,  love,  and  horses  !  the  last  not  the  least  powerful. 
His  literary  zeal  —  by  fits  only,  it  is  true  —  is  quite  stimulating,  and,  like 
Gibbon’s  Memoirs,  rouses  the  dormant  spark  in  me.  It  is  well  occasion¬ 
ally  to  reinvigorate  by  the  perusal  of  works  so  stirring  to  the  flagging 
student.  I  ought  not  to  flag  with  such  an  audience  as  I  am  now  sure  to 
have.  Life  out  of  Boston,  whether  at  Nahant  or  Pepperell,  very  favor¬ 
able  to  regular  studious  habits  and  scholar-like  ardor.  My  ideal  would  be 
best  accomplished  by  a  full  six  months’  residence  in  the  quiet  country. 
But  would  my  general  vigor,  and  especially  that  of  the  stomach,  allow 
it  1  I  fear  not.  This  is  a  good  place  for  effective  work,  even  in  the  dog- 
days.  But  my  eyes  are  better  in  the  country,  and  rheumatism  becomes  a 
formidable  enemy  on  these  bleak  and  misty  shores. 

The  face  of  nature,  whether  here  or  in  the  country,  is  most  tranquilliz¬ 
ing,  and  leads  to  contemplative  occupation.  I  feel  as  if  my  studies, 
family,  and  the  sight  of  a  few  friends,  —  turn  brevi  intervallo,  —  not  con¬ 
vivial  friends,  would  answer  all  my  desires,  and  best  keep  alive  the  best 
source  of  happiness  in  me ;  literary  ambition,  not  the  mere  ambition  of 
fame,  —  I  have  obtained  that,  —  but  of  advancing  the  interests  of  hu¬ 
manity  by  the  diffusion  of  useful  truth.  I  have  been  more  truly  gratified 
by  several  messages  I  have  received  since  the  publication  of  the  “  Con¬ 
quest,”  thanking  me  for  the  solace  I  had  afforded  in  a  sick-chamber,  than 
by  commendations  from  higher  sources.  Yet  I  read  with  satisfaction  a 
passage  in  our  Minister  Wheaton’s  letter  from  Berlin  this  week,  in  which 
he  says :  “  M.  de  Humboldt  never  ceases  praising  your  book,  and  he  is 
not  a  little  difficult  in  his  judgment  of  those  who  venture  on  his  Ameri¬ 
can  ground.”  Humboldt  is  the  most  competent  critic  my  work  has  to 
encounter. 

This  week  I  have  been  reviewing  my  notes  for  the  Introduction, 
already  reaching  to  seventy  sheets,  and  not  done  yet.  I  have  been 
arranging  under  what  heads  I  must  distribute  this  farrago  of  facts  and 
fiction.  The  work  of  distribution,  by  the  appropriate  figure  for  each  sen¬ 
tence,  will  be  no  joke. 

Been  to  town  twi  ;e  last  week,  —  most  uncommon  for  me,  —  once  to 
see  my  friend  Calderon,  returned  as  Minister  from  Spain,  and  once  to  see 
my  poor  friend  Sumner,  who  has  had  a  sentence  of  death  passed  on  him 
by  the  physicians.  His  sister  sat  by  his  side,  struck  with  the  same  dis¬ 
ease.  It  was  an  affecting  sight  to  see  brother  and  sister,  thus  hand  in 
hand,  preparing  to  walk  through  the  dark  valley.7  I  shall  lose  a  good 
friend  in  Sumner,  and  one  who,  though  I  have  known  him  but  a  few 
’’ears,  has  done  me  many  kind  offices. 

7  It  is  not  necessary  to  say  that  Mr.  Sumner  recovered  from  this  attack. 
The  prognostications  relating' to  his  sister  were  unhappily  fulfilled. 

10  * 


o 


226 


WILLIAM  HICKLLNG  PRESCOTT. 


August  18,  1844.  —  Began  Chapter  I.  of  Book  I.,  tile  Introduction  of 
the  “  Conquest  of  Peru,”  on  Monday,  August  12th  ;  wrote  8  noctograph 
=  10  pp.  print,  —  slow  work  and  not  particularly  to  my  mind  either. 
I  have  found  it  best  to  alter  my  plan,  and  throw  military  policy  into 
another  chapter,  and  continue  this  chapter  by  treating  of  the  civil  admin¬ 
istration,  else  it  comes  cart  before  the  horse. 

My  spirits  this  season  at  Nahant  have  been  variable,  and  my  temper 
ditto  ;  I  am  convinced  that  I  am  to  expect  contentment  only,  or  rather 
chiefly,  from  steady  and  engrossing  literary  occupation.  When  one  woik  is 
finished,  don’t  pause  too  long  before  another  is  begun,  and  so  on  till  eyes, 
ears,  and  sense  give  way  ;  then  resignation  !  I  doubt  even  the  policy  of 
annual  journeys ;  am  clear  against  episodical  excursions  for  a  few  days  in 
addition  to  the  one  journey  of  two  weeks  at  most.  I  suspect  my  summer 
migrations  for  residence  will  be  enough  for  health,  and  better  for  spirits. 
Locomotion  riles  up  all  the  wits,  till  they  arc  as  muddy  as  a  dirt-puddle, 
and  they  don’t  settle  again  in  a  hurry.  Is  it  not  enough  to  occupy  my¬ 
self  with  my  historical  pursuits,  varying  the  scene  by  change  of  residence 
suited  to  the  season,  and  by  occasionally  entertaining  and  going  into 
society,  —  occasionally,  not  often  1  What  a  cursed  place  this  is  for  rheu¬ 
matism  and  company,  yet  good  for  general  vigor.  No  dog-days  here, 
and  all  might  be  working-days  if  I  had  pluck  for  it. 


TO  DON  PASCUAL  DE  GAYANGOS. 

Peppekell,  Oct.  13,  1844. 

My  deak  Friend, 

I  am  glad  to  receive  your  very  kind  letter  of  August  28th,  and  to  learn 
that  you  have  at  length  accomplished  the  residencia  at  Simancas.  Fifty- 
two  days  was  a  long  while,  and,  if  you  had  had  the  command  of  all  your 
time,  would  have  enabled  you  to  have  sifted,  at  the  rapid  rate  at  which 
you  go  on,  half  the  library.  But  what  absurd  rules  !  I  think  you 
made  the  most  of  that  precious  bom-  allowed  for  the  papeles  reservados. 
Your  use  of  ciphers  stood  you  in  good  stead.  It  was  a  rare  piece  of  for¬ 
tune  to  have  stumbled  on  such  a  budget,  which  nobody  else  has.  But 
how  can  a  government  wish  to  exclude  the  light  from  those  who  are  occu¬ 
pied  with  illustrating  its  history,  necessarily  compelling  the  historian  to 
take  partia  and  limited  views,  and  that,  too,  of  events  three  hundred 
years  old  !  There  will  be  a  great  trastorno  when  the  archives  are  poured 
into  the  Escorial.8 


TO  COUNT  ADOLPHE  DE  CIRCOURT. 


My  dear  Sir, 


Boston,  Jan.  30,  1846. 


I  am  truly  obliged  by  your  kind  letter,  and  the  beautiful  pieces  of 


8  It  was  proposed  to  remove  the  collections  of  Simancas  to  the  Escorial 
and  there  unite  all  the  documents  of  the  kingdom  relating  to  the  nationsi 
history,  as  had  been  so  admirably  done  in  Seville  for  the  history  of  Spanish 
America. 


liETTEK  TO  COUNT  CIRCOURT. 


227 


criticism  from  your  pen  which  accompanied  it.  I  have  read  them  with 
the  greatest  pleasure.  The  account  of  the  Venetian  language  is  full  of 
novel  historical  details,  as  well  as  of  architectural  criticisms,  that  carry 
me  back  to  those  witching  scenes  where  in  earlier  life  I  passed  some  very 
happy  days.  The  sketch  of  the  German  pastor  Hebei  is  conceived  in  the 
tranquil  and  beautiful  spirit  which  so  well  accords  with  his  own  life  and 
character.  And  the  translations  of  the  Tartar  poems  have  all  the  fresh¬ 
ness  of  original  composition,  with  a  singular  coloring  of  thought  alto¬ 
gether  different,  from  the  Europeau.  Why  do  you  not  gather  these  little 
gems  of  criticism  together,  which  you  thus  scatter  at  random,  into  one 
collection,  where  they  may  be  preserved  as  the  emanation  of  one  and  the 
same  mind  1  I  was  talking  this  over  with  Ticknor  the  other  day,  and  we 
both  agreed  that  few  volumes  of  any  one  author  would  present  such  a 
rich  variety  of  criticism  and  disquisition  on  interesting  and  very  diversified 
topics.  And  yet  you  write  with  the  ease  and  fulness  of  one  who  had 
made  each  of  these  topics  his  particular  study.  I  assure  you  I  am  saying 
to  you  what  I  have  said  to  our  common  friend,  and  he,  with  a  superior 
judgment  to  mine,  fully  confirmed. 

I  must  also  thank  you  for  M.  Chevalier’s  article  in  the  “  Journal  dcs 
Debats,”  which  contains  a  spirited  analysis  of  my  historical  subject.  It 
is  very  kind  in  him  to  bestow  so  much  time  on  it,  and  I  have  now  written 
to  thank  him  ;  and  shall  request  his  acceptance  of  a  copy  of  the  American 
edition  of  the  work,  which  I  shall  send  this  week  by  the  New  York 
packet,  with  another  copy  to  the  French  translator.  I  esteem  myself 
fortunate  in  the  prospect  of  seeing  my  thoughts  clothed  in  the  beautiful 
tongue  of  Racine  and  Rousseau.  Did  I  mention  to  you  that  the  work  is 
in  process  of  translation  in  Berlin  and  in  Rome  ?  In  Mexico,  a  Spanish 
translator  has  undertaken  to  make  such  alterations  (according  to  his  pro¬ 
spectus)  as  shall  accommodate  my  religious  ideas  and  my  opinions  of 
modern  Mexico  more  satisfactorily  to  the  popular  taste ! 

Should  you  find  leisure  to  write  the  notice  which  you  contemplate  in 
the  “  Bibliotheque  Universelle,”  you  will,  of  course,  have  the  kindness  to 
forward  me  a  copy  ;  though  I  trust  you  will  not  allow  this  subject 
to  make  such  demands  on  your  time  as  my  former  history  did,  or  else  the 
publication  of  a  new  work  by  me  will  be  no  day  of  jubilee  to  you. 

A  little  while  before  I  had  the  pleasure  of  receiving  your  letter,  I  met 
with  a  domestic  calamity  of  which  I  shall  allow  myself  to  speak  to  one 
who  has  shown  such  a  friendly  interest  in  my  literary  reputation.  This 
is  the  death  of  my  father,  who  has  been  my  constant  companion,  coun¬ 
sellor,  and  friend  from  childhood  to  the  present  time  ;  for  we  have  always 
lived  under  the  same  roof  together.  As  he  had  the  most  cultivated  tastes 
himself,  and  took  the  deepest  interest  in  my  literary  career,  his  sympathy 
had  become  almost  a  necessary  part  of  my  existence ;  and  now  that  he  is 
gone  life  wears  a  new  aspect,  and  I  feel  that  much  of  the  incentive  and 
the  recompense  of  my  labors  is  withdrawn  from  me.  But  I  have  no  right 
to  complain ;  he  was  spared  to  me,  in  the  full  possession  of  his  powers  of 
head  and  heart,  to  a  good  old  age.  I  take  the  liberty  to  enclose  you  a 
little  obituary  notice  of  him  from  the  pen  of  our  friend  Ticknor,  as  I 
know  you  will  read  what  he  has  written  with  pleasure,  and  it  gratifies  my 
own  feelings  to  think  that  one  for  whom  I  feel  as  high  a  regard  as  vour- 


228 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


self,  in  a  distant  land,  should  hold  my  father’s  name  in  honor,  i  nopa 
you  will  not  think  this  is  a  weakness. 

I  pray  you,  my  dear  Sir,  to  accept  the  assurance  of  the  sincere  respect 
with  which  I  remain 

Your  obliged  friend, 

Wm.  H.  Pbescott. 


MEMORANDA. 

February  6,  1845.  —  A  long  interval  since  my  last  entry,  and  one  preg¬ 
nant  with  important  and  most  melancholy  results  to  me,  for  in  it  I  have 
lost  my  father,  my  counsellor,  companion,  and  friend  from  boyhood  to  the 
hour  of  his  death.  This  event  took  place  on  Sunday  morning,  about 
eight  o’clock,  December  8th,  1844.  I  had  the  sad  comfort  of  being  with 
him  in  his  last  moments,  and  of  witnessing  his  tranquil  and  beautiful 
death.  It  was  in  keeping  with  the  whole  tenor  of  his  mild  and  philosoph¬ 
ical  life.  He  had  complained  of  a  slight  obstruction  or  uneasiness  in  his 
left  side  for  ten  days  before,  and  the  bad  weather  confined  him  in  the 
house,  and  prevented  his  getting  his  customary  exercise.  The  physicians 
thought  it  a  rheumatic  affection.  But  he  did  not  feel  confidence  in  this 
His  strength  became  impaired  by  confinement,  and  half  an  hour  before  his 
death,  while  in  the  library  in  which  he  spent  so  many  happy  and  profit¬ 
able  hours  of  his  life,  he  was  taken  with  a  faintness.  His  old  domestic, 
Nathan  Webster,  was  there  with  him,  and  immediately  ran  for  assistance. 
My  father  recovered,  but  soon  after  relapsed.  He  was  laid  on  the  floor, 
aud  we  were  all  apprehensive  of  a  recurrence  of  the  melancholy  attack 
with  which  he  had  been  visited  at  Pepperell,  the  year  preceding.  But  his 
mind  was  not  affected  otherwise  than  with  the  languor  approaching  to  in¬ 
sensibility  which  belongs  to  faintness.  On  the  speedy  arrival  of  the 
physician  he  was  carried  up  stairs  to  his  own  apartment,  in  the  arms  of  the 
family,  and  in  fifteen  minutes  his  spirit  took  its  departure  to  a  happier 
world.  On  an  examination,  it  was  found  that  the  arteries  leading  from 
the  heart  had  not  conducted  off  the  blood,  and  the  pressure  of  this  had 
caused  the  uneasy  sensation.  The  machinery  was  worn  out.  The  clock — 
to  borrow  the  simile  of  the  poet  —  had  run  down,  and  stopped  of  its  own 
accord. 

He  lived  to  a  good  old  age,  being  eighty-two  August  19th,  1844,  and 
we  have  certainly  great  reason  for  gratitude  that  he  was  spared  to  us  so 
long,  and  that  he  did  not,  even  then,  outlive  his  noble  faculties.  To  have 
survived  the  decay  of  his  mind  would  have  been  a  blow  which  even  he, 
with  all  his  resignation,  could  not  well  have  borne.  But  the  temporary 
cloud  of  the  preceding  year  had  passed  away,  and  he  died  in  the  full  pos¬ 
session  of  the  powers  which  he  has  now  returned,  strengthened  and  increased 
by  unceasing  industry  and  careful  cultivation,  into  the  hands  of  his  merci¬ 
ful  Father.  Yet,  though  there  is  much,  very  much  to  be  thankful  for,  it 
is  only  time  that  can  reconcile  me  to  the  rupture  of  a  tie  that  has  so  long 
bound  us  closely  together.  It  is  a  great  satisfaction  that  his  eminent  vir. 
tncs  have  been  so  justly  appreciated  by  the  community  in  which  he  lived. 
Rarely  has  a  death  excited  such  wide  and  sincere  sorrow.  For  his  high 
intellectual  character  commanded  respect ;  but  his  moral  qualities,  his 


CHARACTER  OF  HIS  FATHER. 


229 


purity  of  prin.'iple,  his  high  sense  of  honor,  his  sympathy  with  others,  es¬ 
pecially  those  who  stood  most  in  need  of  it,  insured  veneration  and  love. 
Yet  those  only  who  have  dwelt  under  his  roof,  and  enjoyed  the  sweet 
pleasures  of  the  most  intimate  domestic  intercourse,  can  estimate  the  real 
extent  of  his  excellence.  The  nearer  the  intimacy,  the  deeper  and  more 
constant  was  the  impression  produced  by  his  virtues.  His  character  stood 
the  test  of  daily,  hourly  inspection. 

It  would  be  most  ungrateful  in  me  not  to  acknowledge  the  goodness  of 
that  Providence  which  has  spared  such  a  friend  to  be  the  guide  of  my 
steps  in  youth,  and  my  counsellor  in  riper  years.  And  now  that  he  is 
gone,  it  must  be  my  duty  and  my  pleasure  to  profit  by  this  long  inter¬ 
course,  and  to  guide  myself  through  the  rest  of  my  pilgrimage  by  the 
memory  of  his  precepts  and  the  light  of  his  example.  He  still  lives,  and 
it  must  be  my  care  so  to  live  on  earth  as  to  be  united  with  him  again  and 
forever. 

I  have  not  felt  in  heart  to  resume  my  historical  labors  since  his  death, 
and  my  time  has  been  much  engrossed  by  necessary  attention  to  family 
affairs.  But  I  must  no  longer  delay  to  return  to  my  studies,  although 
my  interest  in  them  is  much  diminished,  now  that  I  have  lost  my  best  rec¬ 
ompense  of  success  in  his  approbation.  Yet  to  defer  this  longer  would 
be  weakness.  It  will  at  least  be  a  satisfaction  to  me  to  pursue  the  literary 
career  in  which  he  took  so  much  interest,  and  the  success  of  which,  it  is 
most  consoling  for  me  to  believe,  shed  a  ray  of  pleasure  on  the  evening 
of  his  days. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


1844-  1845. 


Publication  of  a  Volume  of  Miscellanies. — Italian  Literature.— 
Controversy  with  Da  Ponte.  —  Charles  Brockden  Brown.  —  Blind 
Asylum.  —  Moliere.  —  Cervantes.  —  Scott.  —  Irving.  —  Bancroft. 
—  Madame  Calderon.  —  History  of  Spanish  Literature.  —  Opin¬ 
ions  of  Review-writing. 


UST  at  this  time  —  the  winter  of  1844-5  —  Mr.  Prescott 


made  an  arrangement  with  Bentley  in  London  for  pub¬ 
lishing  a  volume  of  Miscellanies,  entitled  in  the  English  edi¬ 
tion,  “  Critical  and  Historical  Essays  ” ;  chiefly  articles  from 
the  “  North  American  Review,”  for  which,  though  his  contri¬ 
butions  had  already  become  rare,  and  subsequently  ceased 
altogether,  he  wrote  witli  some  regularity  for  many  years. 

The  subjects  he  had  discussed  were  almost  wholly  literary, 
and,  having  little  relation  to  anything  local,  political,  or  per¬ 
sonal,  were  likely,  on  many  accounts,  to  be  read  with  interest 
in  England.  He  therefore  selected  a  few  of  his  contributions 
as  a  specimen,  and  sent  them  to  his  friend  Colonel  Aspinwall, 
in  London,  with  a  good-humored  letter,  dated  November  15th, 
1844,  in  which  he  says  :  — 

As  the  things  are  already  in  print,  and  stale  enough  here,  I  can’t  expect 
the  London  publishers  will  give  much  for  them.  Possibly  they  may  not 
be  willing  to  give  a  farthing.  I  would  not  advise  them  to.  But  you  will 
probably  think  best  to  ask  sometliing,  as  I  shall  still  have  to  select  and 
dress  them  up  a  little.  But,  though  I  will  not  insist  on  a  compensation 
if  I  can’t  get  it,  I  had  rather  not  have  them  published  than  to  have  them 
appear  in  a  form  which  will  not  match  with  my  other  volumes  in  size.  I 
would  add,  that  at  all  events  I  should  be  allowed  a  dozen  copies  for  my¬ 
self.  If  Bentley,  who  should  have  the  preference,  or  Murray,  do  not 
think  them  worth  the  taking,  I  would  not  go  farther  with  the  trumpery. 
Only,  pray  see  that  they  are  returned  safely  to  your  hands  to  be  destroyed. 

Now,  I  hope  this  will  not  put  you  to  much  trouble.  It  is  not  worth  it, 
and  I  do  not  intend  it.  Better  accede  to  any  proposition,  —  as  far  as 
profits  are  concerned,  they  must  be  so  trilling, — than  be  bothered  with 
negotiations.  And,  after  all,  it  may  be  thought  this  rechauffe  of  old  bones 


MISCELLANIES  PUBLISHED. 


231 


is  not  profitable  enough  to  make  it  worth  while  for  a  publisher  to  under¬ 
take  it  at  all.  If  so,  I  shall  readily  acquiesce.  There  will  be  no  labor 
lost. 

Bentley,  however,  thought  better  of  the  speculation  than 
the  author  did,  and  accepted,  with  a  just  honorarium ,  the 
whole  of  what,  a  few  months  later,  was  sent  to  him.  It  made 
a  handsome  octavo  volume,  and  appeared  in  the  summer  of 
1845  ;  but  there  was  prefixed  to  it  an  engraved  portrait,  which, 
though  great  pains  were  taken  to  have  it  a  good  one,  was  a 
total  failure.1  The  articles  were  fourteen  in  number,  marking 
very  well  the  course  of  the  author’s  studies,  tastes,  and  associa¬ 
tions  during  the  preceding  twenty  years.  Some  of  them  had 
cost  him  no  little  labor  ;  all  were  written  with  a  conscientious 
fidelity  not  common  in  such  contributions  to  the  periodical 
press.  They  were  therefore  successful  from  the  first,  and 
have  continued  to  be  so.  An  edition  by  the  Harpers  at  New 
York  appeared  contemporaneously  with  Bentley’s ;  a  second 
London  edition  was  called  for  in  1850 ;  and  these  have  been 
followed  by  others  both  in  England  and  the  United  States, 
making  in  all,  before  the  end  of  1860,  a  sale  of  more  than 
thirteen  thousand  copies.  The  misgivings  of  the  author,  there¬ 
fore,  about  his  “  rechauffe,  of  old  bones  ”  were  soon  discovered 
to  be  groundless. 

The  first  article  in  the  volume,  reckoning  by  the  date  of 
its  composition,  is  on  “  Italian  Narrative  Poetry,”  and  was 
originally  published  in  the  “  North  American  Review  ”  for 
October,  1824.  At  that  time,  or  a  little  earlier,  Mr.  Prescott 
had,  it  will  be  remembered,  occupied  himself  much  with  the 
literature  of  Italy,  and,  among  other  things,  had  taken  great 
pleasure  in  listening  to  an  accomplished  Italian,  who  had  read 
parts  of  Dante,  Tasso,  Ariosto,  and  Alfieri,  in  a  succession  of 
mornings,  to  two  or  three  friends  who  met  regularly  for  the 
purpose.  He  was,  therefore,  in  all  respects,  well  qualified  to 
discuss  any  department  of  Italian  literature  to  which  he  might 
direct  a  more  especial  attention.  The  choice  he  made  on  this 
occasion  was  fortunate ;  for  narrative  poetry  is  a  department  in 
which  Italian  genius  has  had  eminent  success,  and  his  treatment 

1  When  he  sent  me  a  copy  of  the  English  edition,  he  said,  in  the  note  a*> 
company ing  it:  “  You  will  recovnize  everything  in  it  except  the  portrait.” 


232 


WILLIAM  KICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


of  the  subject  was  no  less  happy  than  the  choice ;  especially,  1 
think,  in  whatever  regarded  his  judgments  on  Politian,  Berni, 
and  Bojardo. 

But  excellent  and  pleasant  as  was  the  article  in  question,  it 
was  not  satisfactory  to  a  very  respectable  Italian,  then  living 
in  the  United  States,  who  seems  to  have  been  more  keenly 
sensitive  to  the  literary  honor  of  his  country  than  he  needed  to 
have  been.  This  gentleman,  Signor  Lorenzo  Da  Ponte,  had 
been  the  immediate  successor  of  Metastasio  as  Imperial  Poet  — 
Poeta  Gesareo  —  at  Vienna,  and  had  early  gained  much  reputa¬ 
tion  by  writing  to  “  Don  Giovanni  ”  the  libretto  which  Mozart’s 
music  has  carried  all  over  the  world.  But  the  life  of  the  Im 
perial  Poet  had  subsequently  been  somewhat  unhappy ;  and, 
after  a  series  of  adventures  and  misfortunes,  which  he  has 
pleasantly  recorded  in  an  autobiography  published  in  1823,  at 
New  York,  he  had  become  a  teacher  of  his  native  language  in 
that  metropolis,  where  he  was  deservedly  much  regarded  and 
respected. 

Signor  Da  Ponte  was  an  earnest,  —  it  may  fairly  be  said,  — 
an  extravagant  admirer  of  the  literature  of  his  native  country, 
and  could  ill  endure  even  the  very  cautious  and  inconsiderable 
qualifications  which  Mr.  Prescott  had  deemed  it  needful  to 
make  respecting  some  of  its  claims  in  a  review  otherwise  over¬ 
flowing  with  admiration  for  Italy  and  Italian  culture.  In  this 
Signor  Da  Ponte  was  no  doubt  unreasonable,  but  he  had  not 
the  smallest  suspicion  that  he  was  so  ;  and  in  the  fervor  of  his 
enthusiasm  he  soon  published  an  answer  to  the  review.  It 
was,  quaintly  enough,  appended  to  an  Italian  translation,  which 
he  was  then  editing,  of  the  first  part  of  Dodsley’s  “  Economy 
of  Human  Life,”  and  fills  nearly  fifty  pages.2 

2  The  title-page  is,  “  Economia  della  Vita  Humana,  tradotta  dal  Inglese  da 
L.  Giudelli,  resa  alia  sna  vera  lezione  da  L.  Da  Ponte,  con  una  traduzione  del 
medesimo  in  verso  rimato  della  Settima  Parte,  che  ha  per  titolo  La  Religione, 
con  varie  lettere  dei  suoi  allievi.  E  con  alcune  osservazioni  sull’  articolo  quarto, 
pubblicato  nel  North  American  Review  il  mese  d’Ottobre  1824,  ed  altre  Prose  e 
Poesie.  Nuova  Yorka,  1825  ”  (16mo,  pp.  141).  This  grotesquely  compound¬ 
ed  little  volume  is  now  become  so  rare,  that,  except  for  the  kindness  of  Mr. 
Henry  T.  Tuckerman,  who  found  it  only  after  long  search,  I  should  probably 
now  have  been  unable  to  obtain  the  use  of  a  copy  of  it.  I,  however,  recol¬ 
lect  receiving  one  from  the  author  when  it  first  appeared,  and  the  circum¬ 
stances  attending  and  following  its  publication. 


CONTROVERSY  WITH  DA  PONTE. 


233 


As  a  matter  almost  of  course,  an  answer  followed,  which 
appeared  in  the  “North  American  Review”  for  July,  1825, 
and  is  reprinted  in  the  “  Miscellanies.”  It  treats  Signor  Da 
Ponte  with  much  respect,  and  even  kindness  ;  but,  so  far  as  it 
is  controversial  in  its  character,  its  tone  is  firm  and  its  success 
complete.  No  reply,  I  believe,  was  attempted,  nor  is  it  easy 
to  see  how  one  could  have  been  made.  The  whole  affair,  in 
fact,  is  now  chiefly  interesting  from  the  circumstance  that  it  is 
the  only  literary  controversy,  and  indeed  I  may  say  the  only 
controversy  of  any  kind,  in  which  Mr.  Prescott  was  ever  en¬ 
gaged,  and  which,  though  all  such  discussion  was  foreign  from 
his  disposition  and  temperament,  and  although  he  was  then 
young,  he  managed  with  no  little  skill  and  decision. 

In  the  same  volume  is  another  review  of  Italian  Literature, 
published  six  years  later,  1831,  on  the  “Poetry  and  Romance 
of  the  Italians.”  The  curious,  who  look  into  it  with  care, 
may  perhaps  notice  some  repetition  of  the  opinions  expressed 
in  the  two  preceding  articles.  This  is  owing  to  the  circum¬ 
stance  that  it  was  not  prepared  for  the  journal  in  which  it 
originally  appeared,  and  in  which  the  others  were  first  pub¬ 
lished.  It  was  written,  as  I  well  remember,  in  the  winter 
of  1827-8,  for  a  leading  English  periodical,  and  was  gladly 
accepted  by  its  scholar-like  editor,  who  in  a  note  requested  the 
author  to  indicate  to  him  the  subjects  on  which  he  might  be 
willing  to  furnish  other  articles,  in  case  he  should  indulge 
himself  further  in  the  same  style  of  writing.  But,  as  the 
author  did  not  give  permission  to  send  his  article  to  the  press 
until  he  should  know  the  sort  of  editorial  judgment  passed  on 
it,  it  happened  that,  by  a  series  of  accidents,  it  was  so  long 
before  he  heard  of  its  acceptance,  that,  getting  wearied  with 
waiting,  he  sent  for  the  paper  back  from  London,  and  gave  it 
to  the  “North  American  Review.”  Mr.  Prescott  adverts  to 
these  coincidences  of  opinion  in  a  note  to  the  article  itself, 
as  reprinted  in  the  “  Miscellanies,”  but  does  not  explain  the 
reason  for  them. 

The  other  articles  in  the  same  volume  are  generally  of  not 
less  interest  and  value  than  the  three  already  noticed.  Some 
of  them  are  of  more.  There  is,  for  instance,  a  pleasant  “  Life 
of  Charles  Brockden  Brown,”  our  American  novelist,  in  which, 


234 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


perhaps,  his  merits  are  overstated.  At  least,  the  author  after¬ 
wards  thought  so  himself ;  but  the  task  was  voluntarily  under 
taken  as  a  contribution  to  the  collection  of  biographies  by  his 
friend  Mr.  Sparks,  in  1834,  and  he  felt  that  it  would  be  some¬ 
what  ungracious  to  say,  under  such  circumstances,  all  he  might 
otherwise  have  deemed  becoming.  No  doubt,  too,  he  thought 
that  Brown,  who  died  in  1810,  and  was  the  best  of  the  pioneers 
in  romantic  fiction  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  had  a  claim  to 
tenderness  of  treatment,  both  from  the  difficult  circumstances 
m  which  he  had  been  placed,  and  from  the  infirmities  which 
had  carried  him  to  an  early  grave.  It  should,  however,  be 
understood,  while  making  these  qualifications,  that  the  Life 
itself  is  written  with  freedom  and  spirit,  and  shows  how  well 
its  author  was  fitted  for  such  critical  discussions. 

Another  article,  which  interested  him  more,  is  on  the  condi¬ 
tion  of  those  who  suffer  from  the  calamity  which  constituted 
the  great  trial  of  his  own  life,  and  on  the  alleviations  which 
public  benevolence  could  afford  to  their  misfortunes.  I  refer, 
of  course,  to  the  blind. 

In  1829,  by  the  exertions  mainly  of  the  late  excellent  Dr. 
John  D.  Fisher,  an  “Asylum  for  the  Blind,”  now  known  as 
“The  Perkins  Institution,”  was  established  in  Boston,  —  the 
earliest  of  such  beneficent  institutions  that  have  proved  success¬ 
ful  in  the  United  States,  and  now  one  of  the  most  advanced  in 
the  world.  It  at  once  attracted  Mr.  Prescott’s  attention,  and 
from  its  first  organization,  in  1830,  he  was  one  of  its  trustees, 
and  among  its  most  efficient  friends  and  supporters.3 

He  began  his  active  services  by  a  paper  published  in  the 
“  North  American  Review  ”  in  July,  1830,  explaining  the 
nature  of  such  asylums,  and  urging  the  claims  of  the  one  in 
which  he  was  interested.  His  earnestness  was  not  without 

8  A  substantial  foundation  for  this  excellent  charity  was  laid  somewhat 
later  by  Colonel  Thomas  H.  Perkins,  so  well  known  for  his  munificence  to 
many  of  our  public  institutions.  He  gave  to  it  an  estate  in  Pearl  Street, 
valued  at  thirty  thousand  dollars,  on  condition  that  an  equal  sum  should  be 
raised  by  subscription  from  the  community.  This  was  done ;  and  the  insti¬ 
tution  bears  in  consequence  his  honored  name.  In  the  arrangements  for  this 
purpose  Mr.  Prescott  took  much  interest,  and  bore  an  important  part,  not 
only  as  a  trustee  of  the  “Asylum,”  but  as  a  personal  friend  of  ColoneJ 

erkins. 


ASYLUM  FOR  THE  BLIND. 


235 


fruits ;  and  the  institution  which  he  helped  with  all  his  heart 
to  found  is  the  same  in  which,  under  the  singularly  successful 
leading  of  Dr.  Samuel  G.  Howe,  a  system  has  been  devised 
for  printing  books  so  as  to  enable  the  blind  to  read  with  an 
ease  before  deemed  unattainable,  and  is  the  same  institution  in 
which,  under  the  same  leading,  the  marvel  has  been  accom¬ 
plished  of  giving  much  intellectual  culture  to  Laura  Bridgman, 
who,  wholly  without  either  sight  or  hearing,  has  hardly  more 
than  the  sense  of  touch  as  an  inlet  to  knowledge.  Mr.  Pres¬ 
cott’s  sympathy  for  such  an  institution,  so  founded,  so  managed, 
was  necessarily  strong,  and  he  continued  to  serve  it  with  fidel¬ 
ity  and  zeal  as  a  trustee  for  ten  years,  when,  its  success  being 
assured,  and  other  duties  claiming  his  time  and  thoughts  more 
urgently,  he  resigned  his  place. 

Some  parts  of  the  article  originally  published  in  the  “  North 
American  Review,”  in  order  to  give  to  the  Boston  Asylum  for 
the  Blind  its  proper  position  before  the  public,  are  so  obviously 
the  result  of  his  personal  experience,  that  they  should  be  re¬ 
membered  as  expressions  of  his  personal  character.  Thus,  in 
the  midst  of  striking  reflections  and  illustrations  connected  with 
his  general  subject,  he  says  :  — 

The  blind,  from  the  cheerful  ways  of  men  cut  off,  are  necessarily  ex¬ 
cluded  from  the  busy  theatre  of  human  action.  Their  infirmity,  however, 
which  consigns  them  to  darkness,  and  often  to  solitude,  would  seem 
favorable  to  contemplative  habits,  and  the  pursuits  of  abstract  science  and 
ure  speculation.  Undisturbed  by  external  objects,  the  mind  necessarily 
turns  within,  and  concentrates  its  ideas  on  any  point  of  investigation  with 
greater  intensity  and  perseverance.  It  is  no  uncommon  thing,  therefore, 
to  find  persons  sitting  apart  in  the  silent  hours  of  evening  for  the  purpose 
of  composition,  or  other  purely  intellectual  exercise.  Malebranche,  when 
he  wished  to  think  intensely,  used  to  close  his  shutters  in  the  daytime, 
excluding  every  ray  of  light ;  and  hence  Democritus  is  said  to  have  put 
out  his  eyes  in  order  that  he  might  philosophize  the  better  ;  a  story,  the 
veracity 4  of  which  Cicero,  who  relates  it,  is  prudent  enough  not  to 
vouch  for. 

Blindness  must  also  be  exceedingly  favorable  to  the  discipline  of  the 
memory.  Whoever  has  had  the  misfortune,  from  any  derangement  of 
that  organ,  to  be  compelled  to  derive  his  knowledge  of  books  less  from 
the  eye  than  the  ear,  will  feel  the  truth  of  this.  The  difficulty  of  recall¬ 
ing  what  has  once  escaped,  of  reverting  to  or  dwelling  on  the  passages 

4  Addison  so  uses  the  word,  and  I  suppose  his  authority  is  sufficient.  But 
veracity  is  strictly  applicable  only  to  a  person,  and  not  to  a  statement  of 
facts. 


23G 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PKESCOTT. 


read  aloud  by  another,  compels  the  hearer  to  give  undivided  attention  to 
the  subject,  and  to  impress  it  more  forcibly  on  his  own  mind  by  subse¬ 
quent  and  methodical  reflection.  Instances  of  the  cultivation  of  this 
faculty  to  an  extraordinary  extent  have  been  witnessed  among  the  blind.6 

And,  near  the  end  of  the  article,  he  says,  in  a  noble  tone, 
evidently  conscious  of  its  application  to  himself:  — 

There  is  no  higher  evidence  of  the  worth  of  the  human  mind,  than  its 
capacity  of  drawing  consolation  from  its  own  resources  under  so  heavy 
a  privation,  so  that  it  not  only  can  exhibit  resignation  and  cheerfulness, 
but  energy  to  burst  the  fetters  with  which  it  is  encumbered.8 

These  words,  it  should  be  remembered,  were  written  at  the 
moment  when  their  author  was  just  stretching  forth  his  hand, 
not  without  much  anxiety,  to  begin  the  composition  of  his 
“Ferdinand  and  Isaoella,”  of  which  the  world  knew  nothing 
and  suspected  nothing  for  nearly  ten  years.  But  the  words, 
which  had  little  meaning  to  others  at  that  time,  are  instinct 
with  the  spirit  which  in  silence  and  darkness  animated  him  to 
hi3  bold  undertaking,  and  not  only  earned  him  through  it,  but 
gave  to  the  rest  of  his  life  its  direction  and  character.7 

The  other  articles  in  this  volume,  published  in  1845,  less 
need  to  be  considered.  One  is  a  short  discussion  on  Scottish 
popular  poetry,  written  as  early  as  the  winter  of  1825  -  6,  and 
published  in  the  following  summer,  when  he  was  already  busy 
with  the  study  of  Spanish,  and  therefore  naturally  compared 
the  ballads  of  the  two  countries.8  Another  is  on  Moliere,  dat¬ 
ing  from  1828,  and  was  the  cause  of  directing  his  thoughts,  ten 
years  later,  while  he  was  uncertain  about  his  success  as  au 
historian,  to  inquiries  into  the  life  of  that  great  poet.9  A  third 
is  on  Cervantes,  and  was  written  as  an  amusement  in  1837, 
immediately  after  the  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  ”  was  com- 

*  Critical  and  Historical  Essays,  London,  1850,  pp.  40,41. 

8  Ibid.,  p.  69.  There  are  also  some  striking  remarks,  in  the  same  tone, 
and  almost  equally  applicable  to  himself,  in  his  notice  of  Sir  Walter  Scott’s 
power  to  resist  pain  and  disease,  with  the  discouragements  that  necessarily 
accompany  them.  Ibid.,  pp.  144,  146. 

7  I  think  he  took  pleasure,  for  the  same  reason,  in  recording  (Article  on 
Molibre)  that  “  a  gentleman  dined  at  the  same  table  with  Corneille  for  six 
months,  without  suspecting  the  author  of  the  Cid.” 

8  Critical  and  Historical  Essays,  pp.  66  sqq. 

*  Ibid.,  pp.  247  sqq. 


REVIEWS. 


237 


pleted,  and  before  it  was  published.  And  a  fourth  and  fifth, 
on  Lockhart’s  Life  of  Scott  and  on  Chateaubriand,  followed 
soon  afterwards,  before  he  had  been  able  to  settle  himself  down 
to  regular  work  on  his  “  Conquest  of  Mexico.” 

A  few  others  he  wrote,  in  part  at  least,  from  regard  for 
the  authors  of  the  books  to  which  they  relate.  Such  were  a 
notice  of  Irving’s  “  Conquest  of  Granada”;10  a  review  of  the 
third  volume  of  Bancroft’s  “History  of  the  United  States”; 
one  of  Madame  Calderon’s  very  agreeable  “  Travels  in  Mexico,” 
which  he  had  already  ushered  into  the  world  with  a  Preface ; 
and  one  on  my  own  “  History  of  Spanish  Literature.”  This 
last,  which  was  published  in  January,  1850,  and  which,  there¬ 
fore,  is  not  included  in  the  earliest  edition  of  the  “  Miscella¬ 
nies,”  was  the  only  review  he  had  written  for  seven  years. 
His  record  in  relation  to  it  is  striking:  — 

October  25th,  1 849.  —  Leave  Pepperell  to-morrow ;  a  very  pleasant 
autumn  and  a  busy  one.  Have  read  for  and  written  an  article  in  the 
“  North  American  Review  ”  on  my  friend  Ticknor’s  great  work  ;  my  last 
effort  in  the  critical  line,  amounting  to  forty-nine  sheets  noctograph !  The 
writing  began  the  12th,  and  ended  the  21st  of  the  month  ;  not  bad  as  to 
industry.  No  matter  how  often  I  have  reviewed  the  ground,  I  must  still 
review  it  again  whenever  I  am  to  write,  —  when  I  sit  down  to  the  task.11 
Now,  Muse  of  History,  never  more  will  I  desert  thy  altar !  Yet  I  shall 
have  but  little  incense  to  offer. 

This  promise  to  himself  was  faithfully  kept.  He  never 
wrote  another  article  for  a  review. 

In  tills,  I  do  not  doubt,  he  was  right.  He  began,  when 
he  was  quite  young,  immediately  after  the  failure  of  the 
“  Club-Room,”  and  wrote  reviews  upon  literary  subjects  of 
consequence,  as  an  exercise  well  fitted  to  the  general  course 
of  studies  he  had  undertaken,  and  as  tending  directly  to  the 
results  he  hoped  at  last  to  reach.  It  was,  he  thought,  a 
healthy  and  pleasant  excitement  to  literary  activity,  and  an 

10  It  may  be  worth  notice  here,  that,  in  the  opening  of  this  review,  writ¬ 
ten  in  1829,  Mr.  Prescott  discusses  the  qualifications  demanded  of  an  histo¬ 
rian,  and  the  merits  of  some  of  the  principal  writers  in  this  department  of 
literature. 

11  This  is  among  the  many  proofs  of  his  conscientious  care  in  writing.  He 
had  read  my  manuscript,  and  had  made  ample  notes  on  it ;  but  still,  lest  he 
should  make  mistakes,  he  preferred  to  go  over  the  printed  book,  niw  that  he 
was  to  review  it. 


238 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


obvious  means  of  forming  and  testing  his  style.  For  twelve 
years,  therefore,  beginning  in  1821,  he  contributed  annually 
an  article  to  the  “  North  American  Review.”  At  one  time  he 
thought  of  writing  occasionally,  from  the  same  motives,  for 
the  more  eminent  English  periodicals ;  but  from  this  he  was 
diverted  partly  by  accident,  but  chiefly  by  labors  more  impor¬ 
tant  and  pressing.  Indeed,  from  1833,  when  he  was  in  the 
midst  of  his  “Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  to  1837,  when  its 
composition  was  completed,  he  found  no  time  for  such  lighter 
occupations  ;  and,  during  the  last  six  and  twenty  years  of  his 
life,  his  contributions  were  only  eight,  nearly  all  of  which 
were  undertaken  from  motives  different  from  those  that  had 
prompted  his  earlier  efforts.  As  far  as  he  himself  was  con¬ 
cerned,  re  view- writing  had  done  its  work,  and  he  was  better 
employed.12 

But,  besides  his  own  engrossing  occupations,  he  had  another 
reason  for  abandoning  the  habit  of  criticising  the  works  of 
others.  He  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  this  form  of 
literary  labor  is  all  but  worthless.  In  his  review  of  the  Life 
of  Scott,  he  had  noticed  how  little  of  principle  is  mingled 
with  it,  and  in  his  memoranda  five  years  later,  when  his  own 

12  Even  before  the  publication  of  the  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  ”  he  had 
begun  to  see  the  little  value  of  American  Reviews.  This  is  plain  from  the 
following  extract  from  a  letter  discovered  since  this  memoir  was  finished,  and 
dated  October  4,  1837.  It  was  addressed  from  Pepperell  by  Mr.  Prescott  to 
his  friend,  Mr.  Gardiner,  in  Boston. 

“  The  last  number  of  the  ‘  North  American  ’  has  found  its  way  into  our 
woods.  I  have  only  glanced  at  it,  but  it  looks  uncommonly  weak  and  water- 
ish.  The  review  of  Miss  Martineau,  which  is  meant  to  be  double-spiced,  is 
no  exception.  I  don’t  know  how  it  is ;  but  our  critics,  though  not  pedantic, 
have  not  the  business-like  air,  or  the  air  of  the  man  of  the  world,  which  gives 
manliness  and  significance  to  criticism.  Their  satire,  when  they  attempt  it, 
—  which  cannot  be  often  laid  to  their  door,  —  has  neither  the  fine  edge  of 
the  ‘  Edinburgh,’  nor  the  sledge-hammer  stroke  of  the  ‘Quarterly.’  They 
twaddle  out  their  humor  as  if  they  were  afraid  of  its  biting  too  hard,  or  else 
they  deliver  axioms  with  a  sort  of  smart,  dapper  conceit,  like  a  little  parson 
laying  down  the  law  to  his  little  people.  I  suppose  the  paltry  price  the 
'  North  ’  pays  (all  it  can  bear,  too,  I  believe)  will  not  command  the  variety  of 
contributions,  and  from  the  highest  sources,  as  with  the  English  journals. 
Then,  in  England,  there  is  a  far  greater  number  of  men  highly  cultivated,  — 
whether  in  public  life  or  men  of  leisure,  —  whose  intimacy  with  affairs  and 
with  society,  as  well  as  books,  affords  supplies  of  a  high  order  for  periodical 
criticism.  For  a’  that,  however,  the  old  ‘  North  ’  is  the  best  periodica)  we  have 
ever  had,  or,  considering  its  resources,  are  likely  to  have,  for  the  present.” 


REVIEW-WRITING. 


239 


experiences  of  it  had  become  abundant,  be  says :  “  Criticism 
bas  got  to  be  an  old  story.  It  is  impossible  for  one  who  has 
done  that  sort  of  work  himself  to  have  any  respect  for  it.  How 
can  one  critic  look  another  in  the  face  without  laughing  ?  ”  He 
therefore  gave  it  up,  believing  neither  in  its  fairness,  nor  in  its 
beneficial  effect  on  authors  or  readers.  Sir  James  Mackintosh, 
after  long  experience  of  the  same  sort,  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  review-writing  was  a  waste  of  time,  and  advised  Mr. 
Tytler,  the  historian,  who  had  occasionally  sent  an  article  to 
the  “  Edinburgh,”  to  abandon  the  practice ; 13  and  in  the  same 
spirit,  De  Tocqueville,  writing  at  the  end  of  his  life,  said,  some¬ 
what  triumphantly :  “  Je  n’ai  jamais  fait  de  ma  vie  un  article 
de  revue.”  I  doubt  not  they  were  all  right,  and  that  society, 
as  it  advances,  will  more  and  more  justify  their  judgment. 

18  Mr.  Prescott’s  articles  in  the  “  North  American  Review  ”  are  as  follows, 
those  marked  with  an  asterisk  (*)  constituting,  together  with  the  Life  of 
Charles  Brockden  Brown,  the  volume  published  in  London  with  the  title  of 
“Critical  and  Historical  Essays,”  and  in  the  United  States  with  that  of 
“  Biographical  and  Critical  Miscellanies  ” :  — 

1821.  Byron’s  Letters  on  Pope. 

1822.  Essay-Writing. 

1823.  French  and  English  Tragedy. 

1824.  Italian  Narrative  Poetry.* 

1S25.  Da  Ponte’s  Observations.* 

1826.  Scottish  Song.* 

1827.  Novel-Writing. 

1828.  Molifere* 

1829.  Irving’s  Granada.* 

1830.  Asylum  for  the  Blind.* 

1831.  Poetry  and  Romance  of  the  Italians.* 

1832.  English  Literature  of  the  Nineteenth  Century. 

1837.  Cervantes.* 

1838.  Lockhart’s  Life  of  Scott.* 

1839.  Kenyon’s  Poems. 

1839.  Chateaubriand. 

1841.  Bancroft’s  United  States.* 

1842.  Mariotti’s  Italy. 

1843.  Madame  Calderon’s  Mexico.* 

1850.  Ticknor’s  Spanish  Literature.* 

At  one  period,  rather  early,  he  wrote  a  considerable  number  of  short  arti¬ 
cles  for  6ome  of  our  newspapers ;  and  even  in  the  latter  part  of  his  life 
occasionally  adopted  this  mode  of  communicating  his  opinions  to  the  publio. 
But  he  d.d  not  wish  to  have  them  remembered.  “  This  sort  of  ephemeral 
trash,”  he  said,  when  recording  his  judgment  of  it,  “  had  better  be  forgotten 
by  me  as  soon  as  possible.” 


CHAPTER  XIX 


1845-1843. 

His  Domestic  Relations.  —  “  Conquest  of  Peru.”  —  Pepperell.  —  Let¬ 
ters. —  Removal  in  Boston.  —  Difficulties.  —  Fiftieth  Birthdat. 
—  Purlisiies  the  “  Conquest  of  Peru.”  —  Doubts.  —  Success.  — 
Memoranda.  —  “  Edinburgh  Review.”  —  Life  at  Pepperell.  —  Let¬ 
ter  from  Miss  Edceworth. 

ON  the  4th  of  May,  1845,  Mr.  Prescott  made,  with  his 
own  hand,  what  is  very  rare  in  his  memoranda,  a  notice 
of  his  personal  feelings  and  domestic  relations.  It  is  simple, 
touching,  true ;  and  I  recollect  that  he  read  it  to  me  a  few  days 
afterwards  with  the  earnest  tenderness  which  had  dictated  it. 

“  My  forty-ninth  birthday,”  he  says,  “  and  my  twenty-fifth  wedding- 
day  ;  a  quarter  of  a  century  the  one,  and  nearly  half  a  century  the  other. 
An  English  notice  of  me  last  month  speaks  of  me  as  being  on  the  sunny 
side  of  thirty-five.  My  life  has  been  pretty  much  on  the  sunny  side,  for 
which  I  am  indebted  to  a  singularly  fortunate  position  in  life  ;  to  inesti¬ 
mable  parents,  who  both,  until  a  few  mouths  since,  were  preserved  to  me 
in  health  of  mind  and  body  ;  a  wife,  who  has  shared  my  few  troubles 
real  and  imaginary,  and  my  many  blessings,  with  the  sympathy  of 
another  self;  a  cheerful  temper,  in  spite  of  some  drawbacks  on  the  score 
of  health  ;  and  easy  circumstances,  which  have  enabled  me  to  consult  my 
own  inclinations  in  the  direction  and  the  amount  of  my  studies.  Family, 
friends,  fortune,  —  these  have  furnished  me  materials  for  enjoyment 
greater  and  more  constant  than  is  granted  to  most  men.  Lastly,  I  must 
not,  omit  my  books  ;  the  love  of  letters,  which  I  have  always  cultivated 
and  which  has  proved  my  solace  —  invariable  solace  —  under  afflictions 
mental  and  bodily,  —  and  of  both  I  have  had  my  share, — and  which 
have  given  me  the  means  of  living  for  others  than  myself,  —  of  living,  I 
may  hope,  when  my  own  generation  shall  have  passed  away.  If  what 
I  have  done  shall  be  permitted  to  go  down  to  after  times,  and  my  soul 
shall  be  permitted  to  mingle  with  those  of  the  wise  and  good  of  future 
generations,  I  have  not  lived  in  vain.  I  have  many  intimations  that  I 
am  now  getting  on  the  shady  side  of  the  hill,  and  as  I  go  down,  the 
shadows  will  grow  longer  and  darker.  May  the  dear  companion  who  has 
accompanied  me  thus  far  be  permitted  to  go  with  me  to  the  close,  <  till 
we  sleep  together  at  the  foot  ’  as  tranquilly  as  we  have  lived.” 

Immediately  after  this  entry  occurs  one  entirely  different, 


SUMMER  AT  PEPPERELL. 


241 


and  yet  not  less  characteristic.  It  relates  to  the  early  chapters 
of  his  “  Conquest  of  Peru,”  which,  it  will  be  remembered,  he 
had  begun  some  months  before,  and  in  which  he  had  been  so 
sadly  interrupted  by  the  death  of  his  father. 

May  llth,  1845. — Finished  writing  —  not  corrected  yet,  from  secre¬ 
tary’s  illness  —  Chapters  I.  and  II.  of  narrative,  text.  On  my  nocto- 
graph  these  two  chapters  make  just  twenty-nine  sheets,  which  will  scarcely 
come  to  less  than  thirty-eight  pages  print.  But  we  shall  see,  when  the 
copy,  by  which  I  can  alone  safely  estimate,  is  made.  I  began  composi¬ 
tion  Wednesday ;  finished  Saturday  noon  ;  about  three  days,  or  more  than 
twelve  pages  print  per  diem.  I  never  did  so  much,  I  think,  before  in  the 
same  time,  though  I  have  done  more  in  a  single  day.  At  this  rate,  I 
should  work  up  the  “  Peru  ”  —  the  two  volumes  —  in  just  about  two 
months.  Lord,  deliver  me  !  What  a  fruitful  author  I  might  become, 
were  I  so  feloniously  intent !  Fdo  de  se,  it  would  be  more  than  all 
others. 

I  have  great  doubts  about  the  quality  of  this  same  homespun  that  has 
run  off  so  rapidly.  I  never  found  it  so  hard  to  come  to  the  starting-point. 
The  first  chapter  was  a  perfectly  painful  task,  as  painful  as  I  ever  per¬ 
formed  at  school.1 II  I  should  not  have  scraped  over  it  in  a  month,  but  I 
bound  myself  by  a  forfeit  against  time.  Not  a  bad  way  (Mem.)  to  force 
things  out,  that  might  otherwise  rot  from  stagnation.  A  good  way 
enough  for  narrative,  which  requires  only  a  little  top-dressing.  But  for 
the  philosophy  and  all  that  of  history,  one  must  delve  deeper,  and  I  query 
the  policy  of  haste.  It  is  among  possibilities  that  I  may  have  to  rewrite 
said  first  chapter,  which  is  of  the  generalizing  cast.  The  second,  being 
direct  narrative,  was  pleasant  work  to  me,  and  as  good,  I  suppose,  as  the 
raw  material  will  allow.  It  is  not  cloth  of  gold  by  a  long  shot  1  A 
hero  that  can’t  read  1  I  must  look  at  some  popular  stories  of  high¬ 
waymen. 

May  18th,  1845. — The  two  chapters  required  a  good  deal  of  correction; 
yet,  on  the  whole,  read  pretty  well.  I  now  find  that  it  only  needed  a 
little  courage  at  the  outset  to  break  the  ice  which  had  formed  over  my 
ideas,  and  the  current,  set  loose  runs  on  naturally  enough.  I  feel  a  return 
of  my  old  literary  interest ;  am  satisfied  that  this  is  the  secret  of  content¬ 
ment,  of  happiness,  for  me ;  happiness  enough  for  any  one  in  the  passing 
[day]  and  the  reflection.  I  have  written  this  week  the  few  notes  to  be 
hitched  on  here  and  there.  They  will  be  few  and  far  between  in  this 
work.  The  Spanish  quotations  corroborative  of  the  text  must  be  more 
frequent. 

The  summer  of  1845  he  passed  entirely  at  Peppered ;  the 
first  he  had  so  spent  for  many  years.  It  was,  on  the  whole,  a 
most  agreeable  and  salutary  one.  The  earliest  weeks  of  the 
season  were,  indeed,  saddened  by  recollections  of  his  father, 

1  This  is  tire  first  chapter  and  is  on  the  civilization  of  the  Incas. 

II  P 


242 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


peculiarly  associated  with  everything  about  him  on  that  spot 
where  from  his  infancy  their  intercourse  had  been  more  free 
and  unbroken  than  it  could  be  amidst  the  business  and  cares 
of  the  town.  The  mingled  feelings  of  pleasure  and  sadness 
which  scenes  and  memories  like  these  awakened  are,  I  think, 
very  naturally  and  gracefully  expressed  in  a  letter,  addressed 
to  Mrs.  Ticknor,  at  Geneseo,  New  York,  where  we  were  pass¬ 
ing  the  summer  for  her  health,  in  frequent  intercourse  with 
the  cultivated  family  of  the  Wadsworths,  to  which  our  friend 
alludes  among  the  pleasures  of  our  condition. 


Pepperell,  June  19,  1845. 

Mi  dear  Anna, 

I  took  a  letter  out  of  the  post-office  last  evening  which  gladdened  my 
eyes,  as  I  recognized  the  hand  of  a  dear  friend ;  and  now  take  the  first 
return  of  daylight  to  answer  it,  and,  as  you  see,  ■with  my  own  hand, 
though  this  will  delay  it ;  for  I  cannot  trust  my  broken-down  nags  to  a 
long  heat. 

I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  that  you  are  situated  so  much  to  your  mind. 
Fine  scenery,  with  the  rural  quiet  broken  only  by  agreeable  intercourse 
with  two  or  three  polished  families  ;  pleasant  drives ;  books ;  the  last 
novel  that  is  good  for  anything,  and,  of  course,  not  very  new ;  old  books, 
old  friends,  and  most  of  these  at  corresponding  distances ;  —  what  could 
one  desire  more  for  the  summer,  except,  indeed,  not  to  be  baked  alive 
with  the  heat,  and  a  stomach  not  beset  by  the  foul  fiend  Dyspepsia, 
abhorred  by  gods  and  men,  who  has  laid  me  on  my  back  more  than  one 
day  here  ?  But  we  should  not  croak  or  be  ungrateful.  And  yet,  when 
the  horn  is  filled  with  plenty,  it  is  apt  to  make  the  heart  hard. 

We  lead  a  very  rational  way  of  life.  A  morning  ride  among  these 
green  lanes,  never  so  green  as  in  the  merry  month  of  June,  when  the 
whole  natural  world  seems  to  be  just  turned  out  of  the  Creator’s  hand ; 
a  walk  at  noon,  under  the  broad  shades  that  the  hands  of  my  father  pre¬ 
pared  for  me  ;  a  drive  at  evening,  with  Will  or  the  Judge  2  officiating  in 

the  saddle  as  squire  of  dames  to  Miss  B - or  to  Miss  C - ,  who 

happens  to  be  on  a  visit  here  at  present ;  the  good  old  stand-by,  Sii 
Walter,  to  bring  up  the  evening.  Nor  must  I  omit  the  grateful  fumes  of 
the  segar  to  help  digestion  under  the  spreading  branches  of  the  old  oilnut- 
trees.  So  wags  the  day.  “  How  happily  the  hours  of  Thalaba  went 


s  It  was  customary,  in  the  affectionate  intercourse  of  Mr.  Prescott’s  family, 
to  call  the  eldest  son  sometimes  Will  and  sometimes  “the  Colonel,”  because 
his  great-grandfather,  of  Bunker  Hill  memory,  had  been  a  Colonel;  but  the 
youngest  son,  who  was  much  of  a  pet,  was  almost  always  called  “  the  Judge,” 
from  the  office  once  held  by  his  grandfather.  The  historian  himself  long 
wore  the  sobriquet  of  “  the  Colonel,”  which  Dr.  Gardiner  gave  him  in  his 
school-boy  days,  and  it  was  now  handed  down  to  another  generation  by 
himself. 


LIFE  IN  THE  COUNTRY. 


243 


by !  ”  I  try  between-whiles  to  pick  some  grains  of  gold  out  of  the 
Andes.  I  hope  the  manufacture  will  not  turn  out  mere  copper-wash. 

June  20. 

Another  day  has  flitted  by,  and  with  it  my  wife  has  flitted  also  ;  gone 
to  town  for  a  cook.  0  the  joys,  the  pains  of  housekeeping  !  The  “  neat- 
handed  Phyllis  ”  who  prepares  our  savory  messes  is  in  love,  and  fancies 
herself  homesick.  So  here  I  am  monarch  of  all  I  survey,  —  a  melan¬ 
choly  monarchy !  The  country  never  looked  so  charming  to  my  eves  ; 
the  fields  were  never  spread  with  a  richer  green  ;  the  trees  never  seemed 
so  flourishing ;  the  streams  never  rolled  fuller  or  brighter ;  and  the  moun 
tain  background  fills  up  the  landscape  more  magnificently  than  ever. 
But  it  is  all  in  mourning  for  me  How  can  it  be  otherwise  I  Is  it  not 
full  of  the  most  tender  and  saddening  recollections "!  Everything  here 
whispers  to  me  of  him ;  the  trees  that  he  planted  ;  the  hawthorn  hedges  ; 
the  fields  of  grain  as  he  planned  them  last  year  ;  every  occupation,  —  the 
rides,  the  rambles,  the  social  after-dinner  talks,  the  evening  novel,  —  all 
speak  to  me  of  the  friend,  the  father,  with  whom  I  have  enjoyed  them 
from  childhood.  I  have  good  bairns,  as  good  as  fall  to  the  lot  of  most 
men ;  a  wife,  whom  a  quarter  of  a  century  of  love  has  made  my  better 
half ;  but  the  sweet  fountain  of  intellectual  wisdom  of  which  I  have 
drunk  from  boyhood  is  sealed  to  me  forever.  One  bright  spot  in  life  has 
become  dark,  —  dark  for  this  world,  and  for  the  future  how  doubtful  1 

I  endeavor  to  keep  everything  about  me  as  it  used  to  be  in  the  good 
old  time.  But  the  spirit  which  informed  it  all,  and  gave  it  its  sweetest 
grace,  is  fled.  I  have  lead  about  the  heart-strings,  such  as  I  never  had 
there  before.  Yet  I  never  loved  the  spot  half  so  well. 

I  am  glad  to  hear  that  George  is  drinking  of  the  old  Castilian  fount 
again,  so  much  at  his  leisure.  I  dare  say,  he  will  get  some  good 
draughts  at  it  in  the  quiet  of  Geneseo.  I  should  like  to  break  in  on  him 
and  you  some  day.  Quien  sabe  ?  as  they  say  in  the  land  of  the  hidalgo. 
If  I  am  obliged  to  take  a  journey,  I  shall  set  my  horses  that  way.  But 
I  shall  abide  here,  if  I  can,  till  late  in  October. 

Pray  tell  your  old  gentleman,  that  I  have  had  letters  from  the  Harper’s 
expressing  their  surprise  at  an  advertisement  they  had  seen  of  a  volume 
of  “  Miscellanies,  Biographical  and  Critical,”  in  the  London  papers,  and 
that  this  had  led  to  an  exchange  of  notes,  which  will  terminate  doubtless 
in  the  republication  of  the  said  work  here,  in  the  same  style  with  its  his¬ 
torical  predecessors. 

My  mother  has  not  been  with  us  yet.  She  is  conducting  the  great 
business  of  transmigration,  and  we  get  letters  from  her  every  other  day. 
The  days  of  the  auld  manse  are  almost  numbered.3 

The  children  send  love  to  you  and  Anika.  Elizabeth  says  she  shall 
W"ite  to  you  soon.  Pray  remember  me  to  your  caro  sposo,  and  believe 
me  always 

Most  truly  and  affectionately  yours, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 

*  They  were  then  removing  from  Bedford  Street  to  Beacon  Street,  and  the 
old  house  in  Bedford  Street  was  about  to  be  pulled  down. 


244 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


But,  notwithstanding  the  discouragements  suggested  in  the 
preceding  letter,  his  work  went  on  well  in  the  country.  His 
habits  were  as  regular  as  the  most  perfect  control  of  his  own 
time  could  enable  him  to  make  them,  and  the  amount  of  exer¬ 
cise  he  took  was  more  than  usual ;  for  the  heats  of  the  interior, 
so  much  greater  than  anything  of  the  sort  to  which  he  had 
been  accustomed  on  the  sea-co^at,  had  made  the  assaults  of 
his  old  enemy,  the  dyspepsia,  more  active  than  ever,  and  had 
compelled  him  to  be  more  than  ever  in  the  open  air.  He  rose, 
as  he  always  did,  early,  and,  unless  prevented  by  rain,  got  an 
hour  and  a  half  in  the  saddle  before  breakfast.  At  noon  he 
walked  half  an  hour  in  the  shade  of  his  own  trees,  and  towards 
evening  drove  an  hour  and  a  half,  commonly  stopping  so  as  to 
lounge  for  a  mile  or  two  on  foot  in  some  favorite  woodland. 
In  this  way  he  went  through  the  summer  without  any  very 
severe  attack,  and  did  more  work  than  usual.4  One  result  of 
it,  however,  was,  that  he  became  more  than  ever  enamored  of 
his  country  life,  and  hoped  that  he  should  be  able  to  enjoy  it 
for  at  least  six  months  in  every  year.  But  he  never  did. 
Indeed,  he  was  never  at  Pepperell  afterwards  as  long,  in  any 
summer,  as  he  was  during  this  one. 

On  reaching  town,  he  established  himself  at  once  in  a  house 
he  had  bought  in  Beacon  Street,  overlooking  the  fine  open 
ground  of  the  Mall  and  the  old  Common.  The  purchase  had 
been  made  in  the  preceding  spring,  when,  during  the  adjust¬ 
ment  of  his  father’s  affairs,  he  determined  on  a  change  of 
residence,  as  both  useful  and  pleasant.  He  did  not,  however, 
leave  the  old  house  in  Bedford  Street  without  a  natural  regret. 
When  he  was  making  his  first  arrangements  for  it,  he  said, 
“  It  will  remove  me  from  my  old  haunts  and  the  scenes  of 
many  a  happy  and  some  few  sad  hours.  May  my  destinies  he 
as  fortunate  in  my  new  residence  !  ” 

The  process  of  settlement  in  his  new  house,  from  which  he 
expected  no  little  discomfort,  was  yet  more  disagreeable  than 
he  had  anticipated.  He  called  it,  “  a  month  of  Pandemonium ; 

4  He  records,  for  instance,  that  he  wrote  in  June  two  chapters,  one  of 
twenty-five,  and  the  other  of  twenty-six  printed  pages,  in  four  days,  adding: 
“  I  never  did  up  so  much  yarn  in  the  same  time.  At  this  rate,  Peru  would 
not  hold  out  six  months.  Can  1  finish  it  in  a  year  ?  Alas  for  the  reader  1 


TROUBLE  IN  HIS  EYE. 


245 


An  unfurnished  house  coming  to  order ;  parlors  without  furni¬ 
ture  ;  a  library  without  boohs  ;  books  without  time  to  open 
them.  Old  faces,  new  faces,  but  not  the  sweet  face  of  Nature.” 

Early  in  December,  however,  the  removal  was  complete ; 
the  library-room,  which  he  had  built,  was  filled  with  his 
books  ;  a  room  over  it  was  secured  for  quiet  study,  and  his 
regular  work  was  begun.  The  first  entry  in  his  memoranda 
after  this  revolution  was  one  on  the  completion  of  a  year  from 
his  father’s  death.  “  How  rapidly,”  he  says,  “  has  it  flitted. 
How  soon  will  the  little  [remaining]  space  be  over  for  me  and 
mine  !  His  death  has  given  me  a  new  position  in  life,  —  a 
new  way  of  life  altogether,  —  and  a  different  view  of  it  from 
what  I  had  before.  I  have  many,  many  blessings  left ;  family, 
friends,  fortune.  May  I  be  sensible  of  them,  and  may  I  so 
live  that  I  may  be  permitted  to  join  him  again  in  the  long 
hereafter.” 

He  was  now  in  earnest  about  the  “  Conquest  of  Peru,”  and 
determined  to  finish  it  by  the  end  of  December,  1846.  But 
he  found  it  very  difficult  to  begin  his  work  afresh.  He  there¬ 
fore,  in  his  private  memoranda,  appealed  to  his  own  conscience 
in  every  way  he  could,  by  exhortation  and  rebuke,  so  as  to 
stimulate  his  flagging  industry.  He  even  resorted  to  his  old 
expedient  of  a  money  wager.  At  last,  after  above  a  month, 
he  succeeded.  A  little  later,  he  was  industrious  to  his  heart’s 
content,  and  obtained  an  impulse  which  carried  him  well 
onward. 

His  collection  of  materials  for  the.  “  History  of  the  Conquest 
of  Peru  ”  he  found  to  be  more  complete  even  than  that  for 
the  corresponding  period  in  Mexico.  The  characters,  too,  that 
were  to  stand  in  the  foreground  of  Iris  scene,  turned  out  more 
interesting  and  important  than  he  had  anticipated,  and  so  did 
the  prominent  points  of  the  action  and  story.  No  doubt  the 
subject  itself,  considered  as  a  whole,  was  less  grave  and  grand 
than  that  of  the  “  Conquest  of  Mexico,”  but  it  was  ample  and 
interesting  enough  for  the  two  volumes  he  had  devoted  to  it ; 
and,  from  the  beginning  of  the  year  1846,  he  went  on  his 
course  with  cheerfulness  and  spirit. 

Once,  indeed,  he  was  interrupted.  In  March  he  “  strained,” 
as  he  was  wont  to  describe  such  an  access  of  trouble,  the  nerve 


246 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


of  the  eye  severely.  “  Heaven  knows  how,”  he  says,  “  proba¬ 
bly  by  manuscript-digging ;  and  the  last  fortnight,  ever  since 
March  10th,  I  have  not  read  or  written,  in  all,  five  minutes 
on  my  History,  nor  ten  minutes  on  anything  else.  My  notes 
have  since  been  written  by  ear-work ;  snail-like  progress.  I 
must  not  use  my  eye  for  reading  nor  writing  a  word  again,  till 
restored.  When  will  that  be  ?  Eheu  !  pazienza  !  ” 

It  was  a  long  time  before  he  recovered  any  tolerable  use  of 
his  sight;  —  never  such  as  he  had  enjoyed  during  a  large  part 
of  the  time  when  he  was  preparing  the  “  Conquest  of  Mexico.” 
On  the  4th  of  May,  1846,  he  records  :  — 

My  fiftieth  birth-day  ;  a  half-century  !  This  is  getting  on  with  a  ven¬ 
geance.  It  is  one  of  those  frightful  halting-places  in  a  man’s  life,  that 
may  make  him  reflect  a  little.  But  half  a  century  is  too  long  a  road  to 
be  looked  over  in  half  an  hour ;  so  I  will  defer  it  —  till  when  ?  But 
what  have  I  done  the  last  year  I  Not  misspent  much  of  it.  The  first 
eleven  months,  from  April  26th,  1845,  to  March  26th,  1846,  I  wrote  five 
hundred  and  twenty  pages,  text  and  notes,  of  my  “  Conquest  of  Peru.” 
The  quantity  is  sufficient,  and,  in  the  summer  especially,  my  industry  was 
at  fever-heat.  But  I  fear  I  have  pushed  the  matter  indiscreetly. 

My  last  entry  records  a  strain  of  the  nerve,  and  my  eye  continued  in  so 
disabled  a  state  that,  to  give  it  a  respite  and  recruit  my  strength,  I  made  a 
journey  to  Washington.  I  spent  nearly  a  week  there,  and  another  at  New 
York  on  my  return,  which,  with  a  third,  on  the  road,  took  up  three  weeks. 
I  was  provided  with  a  very  agreeable  fellow-traveller  in  my  excellent 
friend,  Charles  Sumner.  The  excursion  has  done  me  sensible  benefit, 
both  bodily  and  mental.  I  saw  much  that  interested  me  in  Washington ; 
made  many  acquaintances  that  I  recollect  with  pleasure ;  and  in  New 
York  I  experienced  the  same  hearty  hospitality  that  I  have  always  found 
there . I  put  myself  under  Dr.  Elliott’s  hands,  and  his  local  ap¬ 

plications  to  the  eye  were  of  considerable  advantage  to  me.  The  appliea 
tion  of  these  remedies,  which  I  continue  to  use,  has  done  much  to  restore 
the  morbid  circulation,  and  I  have  hope  that,  with  a  temperate  use  of  the 
eye,  I  may  still  find  it  in  order  for  going  on  with  my  literary  labors.  But 
I  have  symptoms  of  its  decay  not  to  be  mistaken  or  disregarded.  I  shall 
not  aspire  to  more  than  three  hours’  use  of  it  in  any  day,  and  for  the  rest 
I  must  facit  per  aiium .5  This  will  retard  my  progress ;  but  I  have  time 
enough,  being  only  half  a  century  old  ;  and  why  should  I  press  I 

6  Qui  facit  per  aiium,  facit  per  se.  A  pun  made  originally  by  Mr.  T.  Bige¬ 
low,  a  distinguished  lawyer  of  this  neighborhood,  who  was  at  one  time  Speaker 
of  the  House  of  Representatives,  and  otherwise  much  connected  with  the 
government  of  the  Commonwealth.  The  pleasantry  in  question  may  be 
found  happily  recorded  at  p.  110  of  a  little  volume  of  “  Miscellanies,”  pub¬ 
lished  in  1821,  by  Mr.  William  Tudor,  a  most  agreeable  and  accomplished 
person,  who  died  as  our  Charge  ct Affaires  in  Brazil.  Mr.  Bigelow,  still  re- 


FINISHES  “CONQUEST  OF  PERU.” 


247 


But  in  these  hopes  he  soon  found  himself  disappointed.  He 
with  difficulty  strengthened  his  sight  so  far  that  he  was  able  to 
use  his  eye  half  an  hour  a  day,  and  even  this  modicum  soon 
fell  back  to  ten  minutes.  He  was  naturally  much  disheartened 
by  it.  “  It  takes  the  strength  out  of  me,”  he  said. 

But  it  did  not  take  out  the  courage.  He  was  abstinent  from 
work,  and  careful ;  he  used  the  remedies  appointed  ;  and  econo¬ 
mized  his  resources  of  all  kind  as  well  as  he  could.  The  hot 
weeks  of  the  season,  beginning  June  25th,  except  a  pleasant 
excursion  to  Albany,  in  order  to  be  present  at  the  marriage 
of  Miss  Yan  Rensselaer  and  his  friend,  Mr.  N.  Thayer,  were 
passed  at  Nahant,  and  he  found,  as  he  believed,  benefit  to  his 
eye,  and  his  dyspepsia,  from  the  sea-air,  although  it  was  rude 
in  itself  and  full  of  rheumatism.  He  was  even  able,  by  per¬ 
haps  a  rather  too  free  use  of  the  active  remedies  given  him,  to 
read  sometimes  two  hours  a  day,  though  rarely  more  than  one 
and  a  half;  but  he  was  obliged  to  divide  this  indulgence  into 
several  minute  portions,  and  separate  them  by  considerable 
intervals  of  repose. 

The  rest  of  the  season,  which  he  passed  at  Pepperell,  was 
equally  favorable  to  effort  and  industry.  His  last  chapter  — • 
the  beautiful  one  on  the  latter  part  of  Gasca’s  healing  adminis¬ 
tration  of  the  affairs  of  Peru,  and  the  character  of  that  wise 
and  beneficent  statesman  —  was  finished  in  a  morning’s  gallop 
through  the  woods,  which  were  then,  at  the  end  of  October, 
shedding  their  many-colored  honors  on  his  head.  The  last 
notes  were  completed  a  little  later,  November  7th,  making  just 
about  two  years  and  three  months  for  the  two  volumes.  But 
he  seems  to  have  pushed  his  work  somewhat  indiscreetly  at 
last ;  for,  when  he  closed  it,  the  resources  of  his  sight  were 
again  considerably  diminished. 

The  composition  of  the  “  Conquest  of  Peru  ”  was,  therefore, 
finished  within  the  time  he  had  set  for  it  a  year  previously, 
and,  the  work  being  put  to  press  without  delay,  the  printing 
wa3  completed  in  the  latter  part  of  March,  1847  ;  about  two 

membered  by  a  few  of  us,  as  be  was  in  Mr.  Tudor’s  time,  for  “  bis  stores 
of  humor  and  anecdote,”  was  the  father  of  Mrs.  Abbott  Lawrence,  and 
the  grandfather  of  Mr.  James  Lawrence,  who,  as  elsewhere  noted,  married 
the  only  daughter  of  Mr.  Prescott  the  historian. 


248 


WILLIAM  IIICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


years  and  nine  months  from  the  day  when  he  first  put  pen  tu 
paper.  It  made  just  a  thousand  pages,  exclusive  of  the  Appen¬ 
dix,  and  was  stereotyped  under  the  careful  correction  and  super¬ 
vision  of  his  friend,  Mr.  Folsom,  of  Cambridge. 

While  it  was  passing  through  the  press,  or  just  as  the  stereo¬ 
typing  was  fairly  begun,  he  made  a  contract  with  the  Messrs. 
Harper  to  pay  for  seven  thousand  five  hundred  copies  on  the 
day  of  publication  at  the  rate  of  one  dollar  per  copy,  to  be  sold 
within  two  years,  and  to  continue  to  publish  at  the  same  rate 
afterwards,  or  to  surrender  the  contract  to  the  author  at  his 
pleasure  ;  terms,  I  suppose,  more  liberal  than  had  ever  been 
offered  for  a  work  of  grave  history  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic. 
In  London  it  was  published  by  Mr.  Bentley,  who  purchased 
the  copyright  for  eight  hundred  pounds,  under  the  kind  auspi¬ 
ces  of  Colonel  Aspinwall ;  again  a  large  sum,  as  it  was  already 
doubtful  whether  an  exclusive  privilege  could  be  legally  main¬ 
tained  in  Great  Britain  by  a  foreigner. 

An  author  rarely  or  never  comes  to  the  front  of  the  stage 
and  makes  his  bow  to  the  public  without  some  anxiety.  The 
present  case  was  not  an  exception  to  the  general  rule.  Not¬ 
withstanding  the  solid  and  settled  reputation  of  “  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella,”  and  the  brilliant  success  of  the  “  Conquest  of 
Mexico,”  their  author  was  certainly  not  free  from  misgivings 
when  his  new  argosy  was  launched.  He  felt  that  his  subject 
had  neither  the  breadth  and  importance  of  the  subjects  of 
those  earlier  works,  nor  the  poetical  interest  that  constituted 
so  attractive  an  element  in  the  last  of  them.  About  negli¬ 
gence  in  the  matter  of  his  style,  too,  he  had  some  fears ;  for 
he  had  written  the  “  Conquest  of  Peru  ”  with  a  rapidity  that 
might  have  been  accounted  remarkable  in  one  who  had  the 
free  use  of  his  eyes,  turning  off  sometimes  sixteen  printed 
pages  in  a  day,  and  not  infrequently  ten  or  a  dozen.  About 
the  statement  of  facts  he  had  no  anxiety.  He  had  been  care¬ 
ful  and  conscientious,  as  he  always  was ;  and,  except  for  mis¬ 
takes  trifling,  accidental,  and  inevitable,  honest  criticism,  he 
knew,  could  not  approach  him. 

But  whatever  might  have  been  his  feelings  when  the  “  Con¬ 
quest  of  Peru  ”  first  came  from  the  press,  there  was  soon  noth¬ 
ing  of  doubt  mingled  with  them.  The  reviews,  great  and 


THE  EDINBURGH  REVIEW.’ 


249 


small,  at  home  and  in  Europe,  spoke  out  at  once  loudly  and 
plainly  ;  but  the  public  spoke  yet  louder  and  plainer.  In  live 
mouths  five  thousand  copies  of  the  American  edition  had  been 
sold.  At  about  the  same  time,  an  edition  of  half  that  number 
had  been  exhausted  in  England.  It  had  been  republished  in 
the  original  in  Paris,  and  translations  were  going  on  into 
French,  German,  Spanish,  and  Dutch.  A  more  complete  suc¬ 
cess  in  relation  to  an  historical  work  of  so  much  consequence 
could,  I  suppose,  hardly  have  been  asked  by  any  author,  how¬ 
ever  much  he  might  previously  have  been  favored  by  the 
public.6 

MEMORANDA. 

May  18th,  1845.  —  I  received  the  “  Edinburgh  Review  ”  this  week.  It 
contains  an  article  on  the  “  Conquest  of  Mexico,”  written  with  great  spirit 
and  elegance,  and  by  far  the  most  cordial  as  well  as  encomiastic  I  have  ever 
received  from  a  British  journal ;  much  beyond,  I  suspect,  what  the  public 
will  think  I  merit.  It  says,  —  Nothing  in  the  conduct  of  the  work  they 
would  wish  otherwise,  —  tiiat  I  unite  the  qualifications  of  the  best  histori¬ 
cal  writers  of  the  day,  Scott,  Napier,  Tytler,  —  is  emphatic  in  the  com¬ 
mendation  of  the  style,  &c.,  &c.  I  begin  to  have  a  high  opinion  of  Re¬ 
views  !  The  only  fault  they  find  with  me  is,  that  I  deal  too  hardly  with 
Corte's.  Shade  of  Montezuma  !  They  say  I  have  been  blind  several 
years  !  The  next  tiling,  I  shall  hear  of  a  subscription  set  on  foot  for  the 
blind  Yankee  author.  But  I  have  written  to  the  editor,  Napier,  to  set  it 
right,  if  he  thinks  it  worth  while.  Received  also  twenty  columns  of 
“  newspaperial  ”  criticisms  on  the  “  Conquest,”  in  a  succession  of  papers 
from  Quebec.  I  am  certainly  the  cause  of  some  wit,  and  much  folly,  in 
others. 

Iii  relation  to  the  mistake  in  the  “  Edinburgh  Review  ” 
about  his  blindness,  lie  expressed  his  feelings  very  naturally 
and  very  characteristically,  when  writing  immediately  after¬ 
wards,  to  his  friend,  Colonel  Aspinwall,  London.  He  was  too 
proud  to  submit  willingly  to  commiseration,  and  too  honest  to 
accept  praise  for  difficulties  greater  than  he  had  really  over¬ 
come. 

“I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,”  he  wrote  May  15th,  1845,  “for 
your  kind  suggestion  about  the  error  in  the  ‘  Edinburgh  Review  ’  on  my 
blindness.  I  have  taken  the  hint  and  written  myself  to  the  editor,  Mr. 
Napier,  by  this  steamer.  I  have  set  him  right  about  the  matter,  and  he 
can  correct  it,  if  he  thinks  it  worth  while.  I  can’t  say  I  like  to  be  called 

«  To  January  1,  I860,  there  had  been  sold  of  the  American  and  English 
eui1  ions  of  the  “  Conquest  of  Peru,”  16,965  copies. 

1 1  * 


250 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


blind.  I  Lave,  it  is  true,  but  one  eye ;  but  that  has  done  me  some  service, 
and,  with  fair  usage,  will,  I  trust,  do  me  some  more.  I  have  been  so 
troubled  with  inflammations,  that  I  have  not  been  able  use  it  for  months, 
and  twice  for  several  years  together.” 

The  following  letter  from  the  editor  of  the  “  Edinburgh 
Review  ”  to  Mr.  Everett,  then  American  Minister  in  London, 
and  the  subsequent  memorandum  of  Mr.  Prescott  himself, 
show  the  end  of  this  slight  matter. 


FROM  MACVEY  NAPIER,  ESQ. 

Edinburgh,  June  10,  1846. 

Dear  Sie, 

A  short  absence  in  the  country  has  till  now  prevented  me  from  acknowl¬ 
edging  the  receipt  of  the  flattering  letter  of  the  2d  with  which  you  have 
been  pleased  to  honor  me,  covering  a  very  acceptable  enclosure  from  Mr. 
Prescott. 

Thank  God,  there  is  an  extensive  as  well  as  rich  neutral  territory  of 
science  and  literature,  where  the  two  nations  may,  and  ever  ought  to  meet, 
without  any  of  those  illiberal  feelings  and  degrading  animosities  which  too 
often  impart  a  malignant  aspect  to  the  intercourse  and  claims  of  civil  life; 
and  it  has  really  given  me  high  satisfaction  to  find,  that  both  you  and  Mr. 
Prescott  himself  are  satisfied  that  his  very  great  merits  have  been  kindly 
proclaimed  in  the  article  which  I  have  lately  had  the  pleasure  of  inserting 
in  the  “  Edinburgh  Review.” 

I  hope  I  may  request  that,  when  you  shall  have  any  call  otherwise  to 
write  to  Mr.  Prescott,  you  will  convey  to  him  the  expression  of  my  satis¬ 
faction  at  finding  that  he  is  pleased  with  the  meed  of  honest  approbation 
that  is  there  awarded  to  him. 

I  am  truly  glad  to  learn  from  that  gentleman  himself,  that  the  statement 
as  to  his  total  blindness,  which  I  inserted  in  a  note  to  the  article,  on  what 
I  thought  good  authority,  proves  to  be  inaccurate ;  and  from  his  wish  — 
natural  to  a  lofty  spirit — that  he  should  not  be  thought  to  have  originated 
or  countenanced  any  statement  as  to  the  additional  merits  of  historical  re¬ 
search  which  so  vast  a  bereavement  would  infer,  I  shall  take  an  opportu¬ 
nity  to  correct  my  mistake ;  a  communication  which  will,  besides,  prove 
most  welcome  to  the  learned  world. 

With  respect  to  the  authorship  of  the  article,  there  needs  to  be  no  hesi¬ 
tation  to  proclaim  it.  With  the  exception  of  a  very  few  editorial  inser¬ 
tions  and  alterations,  which  do  not  by  any  means  enhance  its  merits,  it 
was  wholly  written  by  Mr.  Charles  Phillipps,  —  a  young  barrister  and  son 
of  Mr.  Phillipps,  one  of  the  Under-Secretaries  of  State  for  the  Home-De¬ 
partment.  lie  is  the  author  of  some  other  very  valuable  contributions. 
You  are  quite  at  liberty  to  mention  this  to  Mr.  Prescott. 


I  have  the  honor  to  remain,  with  very  great  esteem,  dear  sir. 

Your  obliged  and  faithful  servant, 

Macvev  Napibk. 

To  his  Excellency  E.  Everett.  London. 


LETTERS  TO  DON  PASCUAL  DE  GAYANGOS. 


251 


MEMORANDUM. 

August  10th,  1845.  —  The  editor  of  last  “Edinburgh  Review”  has 
politely  inserted  a  note  correcting  the  statement,  in  a  preceding  number, 
of  my  blindness,  on  pretty  good  authority,  —  viz.  myself.  So  I  trust  it 
will  find  credit. 

TO  DON  PASCUAL  DE  GAYANGOS. 

Pepperell,,  Sept.  28,  1845. 

. Th8  Gasca  manuscript,  which  I  believe  is  in  the  box,  will  be  in 

perfect  season,  as  I  am  yet  a  good  distance  from  that  period.7  I  have  been 
very  industrious  this  summer,  having  written  half  a  volume  in  these  quiet 
shades  of  Pepperell.  This  concludes  my  first  volume,  of  which  the  In¬ 
troduction,  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  pages,  took  me  a  long  while.  The 
rest  will  be  easy  sailing  enough,  though  I  wish  my  hero  was  more  of  a 
gentleman  and  less  of  a  bandit.  I  shall  not  make  more  than  a  brace  of 
volumes,  I  am  resolved.  Ford  has  sent  me  his  “Handbook  of  Spain.” 
What  an  olla  podrida  it  is  !  —  criticism,  travels,  history,  topography,  &c., 
&c.,  all  in  one.  It  is  a  perfect  treasure  in  its  way,  and  will  save  me  the 
trouble  of  a  voyage  to  Spain,  if  I  should  be  inclined  to  make  it  before 
writing  “  Philip.”  He  speaks  of  you  like  a  gentleman,  as  he  ought  to 
do  ;  and  I  have  come  better  out  of  his  hands  than  I  did  once  on  a 
time. 

Have  you  got  the  copy  of  my  “Miscellanies”  I  ordered  for  you?  You 
will  see  my  portrait  in  it,  which  shows  more  imagination  than  anything 
else  in  the  book,  I  believe.  The  great  staring  eyes,  however,  will  show 
that  I  am  not  blind,  — -  that ’s  some  comfort. 

TO  DON  PASCUAL  DE  GAYANGOS. 

Boston,  Nov.  13,  1845. 

....  And  now,  my  dear  friend,  I  want  to  say  a  word  about  the  man¬ 
uscripts,  which  I  found  awaiting  me  on  my  return  to  town.  I  have  as 
yet,  with  the  aid  of  my  secretary’s  eyes,  looked  through  only  about  half 
of  them.  They  are  very  precious  documents.  The  letters  from  San 
Geronimo  de  Yuste  have  much  interest,  and  show  that  Charles  the  Fifth 
was  not,  as  Robertson  supposed,  a  retired  mouk,  who  resigned  the  world, 
and  all  the  knowledge  of  it,  when  he  resigned  his  crown.  I  see  mentioned 
in  a  statement  of  the  manuscripts  discovered  by  Gonzales,  printed  in  our 
newspapers  and  written  by  Mr.  Wheaton,  our  Minister  at  Berlin,  that  one 
of  these  documents  was  a  diary  kept  by  the  Major  Domo  Quixada  and 
Yasquez  de  Molina,  the  Emperor’s  private  secretary,  to  be  transmitted  to 
Dona  Juana,  the  Princess  of  Portugal ;  which  journal  contains  a  minute 
account  of  his  health,  actions,  and  conversation,  &c.,  and  that  the  diary 
furnished  one  great  source  of  Gonzales’s  information.  It  is  now,  I  sup- 

*  An  important  MS.  relating  to  the  administration  of  Gasca  in  Peru. 


252 


WILLIAM  IIICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


pose,  too  late  to  get  it,  as  most  probably  the  situation  of  the  manuscript  w 
not  known  to  the  clerks  of  the  archives.  Mignet  told  a  friend  of  mine  that 
he  should  probably  publish  some  of  the  most  important  documents  he  had 
got  from  Gonzales  before  long.  I  have  no  trouble  on  that  score,  as  I  feel 
already  strong  enough  with  your  kind  assistance.  The  documents  relating 
to  the  Armada  have  extraordinary  interest.  The  despatches  of  Philip  are 
eminently  characteristic  of  the  man,  and  show  that  nothing,  great  or  little, 
was  done  without  his  supervision.  We  are  just  now  exploring  the  letters 
of  the  Santa  Cruz  collection.  But  this  I  have  done  only  at  intervals, 
when  I  could  snatch  leisure.  In  a  week  or  two  I  hope  to  be  settled. 


TO  DON  PASCUAL  DE  GAYANGOS. 

Boston,  Aug.  81,  1846. 

. The  translation8  appears  faithful,  as  far  as  I  have  compared  it. 

As  to  its  literary  execution  in  other  respects,  a  foreigner  cannot  decide. 
But  I  wish  you  svould  give  my  thanks  to  the  translator  for  the  pleasure  it 
has  given  me.  His  notes  on  the  whole  arc  courteous,  though  they  show 
that  Senor  Sabau  has  contemplated  the  ground  often,  from  a  different 
point  of  view  from  myself.  But  this  is  natural.  For  am  I  not  the  child 
of  democracy  1  Yet  no  bigoted  one,  I  assure  you.  I  am  no  friend  to 
bigotry  in  politics  or  religion,  and  I  believe  that  forms  are  not  so  impor¬ 
tant  as  the  manner  in  which  they  are  administered.  The  mechanical  ex¬ 
ecution  of  the  book  is  excellent.  It  gives  me  real  pleasure  to  see  myself 
put  into  so  respectable  a  dress  in  Madrid.  I  prize  a  translation  into  the 
noble  Castilian  more  than  any  other  tongue.  For  if  my  volumes  are 
worthy  of  translation  into  it,  it  is  the  best  proof  that  I  have  not  wasted 
my  time,  and  that  I  have  contributed  something  in  reference  to  the  insti¬ 
tutions  aud  history  of  the  country  which  the  Spaniards  themselves  would 
not  willingly  let  die. 


TO  THE  CAVALIERE  EUGENIO  ALBERI,  FLOBENCE. 


Boston,  Oct.  13,  1846. 


My  dear  Sir, 

I  have  great  pleasure  in  acknowledging  the  receipt  of  the  six  volumes 
of  Relazioni,  which  you  have  been  so  obliging  as  to  send  me  through  Mr. 
Lester. 

It  is  a  work  of  inestimable  value,  and  furnishes  the  most  authentic  basis 
for  history.  Your  method  of  editing  it  appears  to  me  admirable.  The 
brief  but  comprehensive  historical  and  chronological  notices  at  the  begin¬ 
ning,  and  your  luminous  annotations  throughout,  put  the  reader  in  pos¬ 
session  of  all  the  information  he  can  desire  in  regard  to  the  subjects 
treated  in  the  Relazioni.  At  the  close  of  the  third  volume,  on  the  Otto¬ 
mans,  you  place  an  Index  of  the  contents  of  the  volume,  which  is  a  great 
convenience. 


8  Of  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  by  Sabnu. 


LETTER  FROM  MISS  EDGEWORTH. 


253 


I  suppose,  from  what  you  say  in  the  Preface,  there  will  be  a  full  Index 
of  the  whole  when  completed. 

I  have  a  number  of  Venetian  Relazioni  in  manuscript,  copied  from  the 
libraries  of  Berlin  and  Gotha.  They  relate  to  the  court  of  Philip  the 
Second,  on  which  you  must  now,  1  suppose,  be  occupied,  and  I  shall  look 
forward  to  the  conclusion  of  your  learned  labors  with  the  greatest  interest. 
Many  of  your  manuscripts,  I  see,  are  derived  from  the  Marquis  Gino 
Capponi’s  collection.  It  must  be  very  rich  indeed.  —  I  am  much  grieved 
to  learn  that  his  eyes  have  now  failed  him  altogether.  My  own  privations 
in  this  way,  though  I  have  the  partial  use  of  my  eyes,  make  me  feel  how 
heavy  a  blow  it  is  to  a  scholar  like  him.  It  is  gratifying  to  reflect  that 
he  bears  up  under  it  with  so  much  courage,  and  that  the  misfortune  does 
not  quench  his  generous  enthusiasm  for  letters.  Pray  give  my  sincere 
respects  and  regards  to  him,  for,  though  I  never  saw  him,  I  had  the 
pleasure  formerly  of  communicating  with  him,  and  I  know  his  character 
so  well  that  I  feel  as  if  I  knew  him  personally. 


FROM  MISS  MARIA  EDGEWORTH. 


Edgeworth’s  Town,  Aug.  28, 1847. 

Dear  Sir, 

Your  Preface  to  your  “  History  of  the  Conquest  of  Peru  ”  is  most 
interesting ;  especially  that  part  which  concerns  the  author  individually. 
That  delicate  integrity  which  made  him  apprehend  that  he  had  received 
praise  or  sympathy  from  the  world  on  false  pretences,  converts  what 
might  have  been  pity  into  admiration,  without  diminishing  the  feeling  for 
his  suffering  and  his  privations,  against  which  he  has  so  nobly,  so  perse- 
veringly,  so  successfully  struggled.  Our  admiration  and  highest  esteem 
now  are  commanded  by  his  moral  courage  and  truth. 

What  pleasure  and  pride  —  honest,  proper  pride  —  you  must  feel,  my 
dear  Mr.  Prescott,  in  the  sense  of  difficulty  conquered  ;  of  difficulties 
innumerable  vanquished  by  the  perseverance  and  fortitude  of  genius  1  It 
is  a  fine  example  to  human  nature,  and  will  form  genius  to  great  works 
in  the  rising  generation  and  in  ages  yet  unborn. 

What  a  new  and  ennobling  moral  view  of  posthumous  fame  !  A  view 
which  short-sighted,  narrow-minded  mediocrity  cannot  reach,  and  probably 
would  call  romantic,  but  which  the  noble-minded  realize  to  themselves, 
and  ask  not  either  the  sympathy  or  the  comprehension  of  the  common¬ 
place  ones.  You  need  not  apologize  for  speaking  of  yourself  to  the 
world.  No  one  in  the  world,  whose  opinion  is  worth  looking  to,  will 
ever  think  or  call  this  “  egotism,”  any  more  than  they  did  in  the  case  of 
Sir  Walter  Scott.  Whenever  he  spoke  of  himself  it  was  with  the  same 
noble  and  engaging  simplicity,  the  same  endearing  confidence  in  the  sym¬ 
pathy  of  the  good  and  true-minded,  and  the  same  real  freedom  from  all 
vanity  which  we  see  in  your  addresses  to  the  public. 

As  to  your  judgments  of  the  advantages  peculiar  to  each  of  your  His¬ 
tories,  —  the  “  Conquest  of  Mexico  ”  and  the  “  Conquest  of  Peru,”  — 
ot  course  you,  who  have  considered  and  compared  them  in  all  lights,  must 
be  accurate  in  your  estimate  of  the  facility  or  difficulty  each  subject  pre- 


254 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PKESCOTT. 


sented  ;  and  you  have  well  pointed  out  in  your  Preface  to  “  Peru  "  the 
difficulty  of  making  out  a  unity  of  subject,  —  where,  in  fact,  the  first 
unity  ends,  as  we  may  dramatically  consider  it,  at  the  third  act,  when  the 
conquest  of  the  Incas  is  effected,  —  but  not  the  conquest  of  Peru  for 
Spain,  which  is  the  thing  to  be  done.  You  have  admirably  kept  the 
mind’s  eye  upon  this,  the  real  end,  and  have  thus  carried  on,  and  pro¬ 
longed,  and  raised,  as  you  carried  forward,  the  interest  sustained  to  the 
last  moment  happily  by  the  noble  character  of  Gasca,  with  which  termi¬ 
nates  the  history  of  the  mission  to  Peru. 

You  sustain  with  the  dignity  of  a  just  historian  your  mottoes  from 
Claudian  and  from  Lope  de  Vega.  And  in  doing  this  con  amore  you 
carry  with  you  the  sympathy  of  your  reader.  The  cruelties  of  the  Span¬ 
iards  to  the  inoffensive,  amiable,  hospitable,  trusting  Peruvians  and  their 
Incas  are  so  revolting,  that,  unless  you  had  given  vent  to  indignation,  the 
reader’s  natural,  irrepressible  feelings  would  have  turned  against  the  nar¬ 
rator,  in  whom  even  impartiality  would  have  been  suspected  of  want  of 
moral  sense. 

I  wish  that  you  could  have  gone  further  into  that  comparison  or  in¬ 
quiry  which  you  have  touched  upon  and  so  ably  pointed  out  for  further 
inquiry,  —  How  far  the  want  of  political  freedom  is  compatible  or  incom 
patible  with  happiness  or  virtue  1  You  well  observe,  that  under  the  Incas 
this  experiment  was  tried,  or  was  trying,  upon  the  Peruvians,  and  that  the 
contrary  experiment  is  now  trying  in  America.  Much  may  be  said, 
but  much  more  is  to  be  seen,  on  both  sides  of  this  question.  There  is  a 
good  essay  by  a  friend  of  mine,  perhaps  of  yours,  the  late  Abbe'  Morel- 
let,  upon  the  subject  of  personal  and  political  freedom.  I  wonder  what 
your  negroes  would  say  touching  the  comforts  of  slavery.  They  seem  to 
feel  freedom  a  curse,  when  suddenly  given,  and,  when  unprepared  for  the 
consequences  of  independence,  lie  down  with  the  cap  of  liberty  pulled 
over  their  ears  and  go  to  sleep  or  to  death  in  some  of  our  freed,  lazy  colo¬ 
nies  and  the  empire  of  Hayti.  But,  I  suppose,  time  and  motives  will 
settle  all  this,  and  waken  souls  in  black  bodies  as  well  as  in  white.  Mean¬ 
while,  I  cannot  but  wish  you  had  discussed  a  little  more  tiffs  question, 
even  if  you  had  come  upon  the  yet  more  difficult  question  of  races,  and 
their  unconquerable,  or  their  conquerable  or  exhaustible  differences.  Who 
could  do  this  so  well  f 

I  admire  your  adherence  to  your  principle  of  giving  evidence  in  your 
notes  and  appendices  for  your  own  accuracy,  and  allowing  your  own  opin¬ 
ions  to  be  rejudged  by  your  readers  in  furnishing  them  with  the  means  of 
judging  which  they  could  not  otherwise  procure,  and  which  you,  having 
obtained  with  so  much  labor  and  so  much  favor  from  high  and  closed 
sources,  bring  before  us  gratis  with  such  unostentatious  candor  and  hu 
mility. 

I  admire  and  favor,  too,  your  practice  of  mixing  biography  with  his¬ 
tory  ;  genuine  sayings  and  letters  by  which  the  individuals  give  their  own 
character  and  their  own  portraits.  And  I  thank  you  for  the  quantity  of 
information  you  give  in  the  notices  of  the  principal  authorities  to  whom 
you  refer.  These  biographical  notices  add  weight  and  value  to  the 
authorities,  in  the  most  agreeable  manner  ;  —  though  I  own  that  I  was 
often  mortified  by  my  own  ignorance  of  the  names  you  mention  of  great 


LETTER  FROM  M.  AUGUSTIN  THIERRY. 


255 


men,  your  familiars.  —  You  have  made  me  long  to  have  know?  your 
admirable  friend,  Don  Fernandez  de  Navarrete,  of  whom  you  make  such 
honorable  and  touching  mention  in  your  Preface. 

1  must  content,  myself,  however,  —  and  comfortably  well  I  do  content 
myself,  —  with  knowing  your  dear  friend  Mr.  Ticknor,  whom  I  do  esteem 
and  admire  with  all  my  heart,  as  you  do. 

You  mention  Mr.  O.  Rich  as  a  bibliographer  to  whom  you  have  been 
obliged.  It  occurred  to  rne  that  this  might  be  the  Mr.  O.  Rich  residing 
in  London,  to  whom  Mr.  Ticknor  had  told  me  I  might  apply  to  convey 
packets  or  books  to  him,  and,  upon  venturing  to  ask  the  question,  Mr 
Rich  answered  rne  in  the  most  obliging  manner,  confirming,  though  with 
great  humility,  his  identity,  and  offering  to  convey  any  packets  1  might 
■wish  to  send  to  Boston. 

I  yesterday  sent  to  him  a  parcel  to  go  in  his  next  box  of  books  to  Mr. 
Ticknor.  In  it  I  have  put,  addressed  to  the  care  of  Mr.  Ticknor,  a  very 
trifling  offering  for  you,  my  dear  sir,  which,  trifling  as  it  is,  I  hope  and 
trust  your  good  nature  will  not  disdain,  —  half  a  dozen  worked  marks  to 
put  in  books  ;  and  I  intended  those  to  be  used  in  your  books  of  reference 
when  you  are  working,  as  I  hope  you  are,  or  will  be,  at  your  magnum 
opus,  —  the  History  of  Spain.  One  of  these  marks,  that  which  is  marked 
in  green  silk,  “Maria  E - for  Prescott’s  works  ”  ! ! !  is  my  own  handi¬ 

work  every  stitch  ;  in  my  eighty-first  year,  - —  eighty-two  almost,  —  I  shall 
be  eighty-two  the  1st  of  January.  I  am  proud  of  being  able,  even  in  this 
trifling  matter,  to  join  my  young  friends  in  this  family  in  working  souvenirs 
for  the  great  historian. 

Believe  me,  my  dear  Mr.  Prescott,  your  much  obliged  and  highly  grati¬ 
fied  friend,  and  admiring  reader  and  marker, 

Maria  Edgeworth. 


TO  DON  PASCUAL  DE  GAYANGOS. 

Boston,  Jan.  27,  1848. 

.....  I  have  been  overhauling  my  Philip  the  Second  treasures,  and 
making  out  a  catalogue  of  them.  It  is  as  beautiful  a  collection,  printed 
and  manuscript,  I  will  venture  to  say,  as  history-monger  ever  had  on  his 
shelves.  How  much  am  I  indebted  to  you !  There  are  too  many  of 
your  own  books  in  it,  however,  by  half,  and  you  must  not  fail  to  advise 
me  when  you  want  any  or  all  of  them,  which  I  can  easily  understand 
may  be  the  case  at  any  time. 

FROM  M.  AUGUSTIN  THIERRY. 

Monsieur, 

Pardonnez  moi  le  long  retard  qne  j’ai  mis  is  vous  remercier  du  pre- 
eieux  envoi  que  vous  avez  eu  la  bontd  de  me  faire ;  la  lenteur  de  mes 
lectures  d’aveugle,  surtout  en  langue  etrangere,  le  peu  de  loisir  que  me 
laisse  le  trine  etat  de  ma  santd  et  des  travaux  imperieux  auxquels  j’ai 
peine  a  suffire,  voila  quelies  ont  ete'  les  causes  de  ma  negligence  apparent* 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT 


25  G 

ii  remplir  un  devoir  de  gratitude  et  de  haute  estime  pour  vous.  Je  voa- 
lais  avoir  completement  lu  vos  deux  nouveaux  et  tres  remarquables 
volumes.  Je  trouve  que,  pour  le  fond,  pour  les  recherches,  la  nettcte  et 
la  justesse  des  vues,  ils  sout  egaux  'a  vos  prece'dentes  publications,  et  que 
peut-etre  ils  les  surpassent  pour  la  forme.  Lc  style  est  sobre  et  ferine, 
l’exposition  nette  et  la  partie  dramatique  de  l’histoire  vivement  traitee. 
Poursuivez,  Monsieur,  des  travaux  dont  le  succbs  e'gale  le  me'rite,  et  qui 
ont  rendu  votre  nom  illustre  de  ce  cote-ei  de  l’Atlantique ;  donnezleur 
toute  l’e'tendue  que  vos  projets  comportaient,  et  ne  vous  laissez  pas 
decourager  par  la  menace  d’un  mal  qui,  — j’en  ai  fait  l’experience,  —  est, 
dans  la  carriere  d’historien,  une  gene,  un  embarras,  mais  nullement  un 
obstacle. 

Vous  me  demandez  si  la  ne'cessite,  mere  de  toute  industrie,  ne  m’a  pas 
sugge're  quelques  me'thodes  partieulieres,  qui  atte'nuent  pour  moi  les  diffi- 
culte's  du  travail  d’aveugle.  Je  suis  force?  d’avouer  que  je  n’ai  rien 
d’interessant  a  vous  dire.  Ma  fayon  de  travailler  est  la  meme  qu’au  tems 
oir  j’avais  l’usage  de  mes  yeux,  si  ce  n’est  que  je  dicte  et  me  fais  lire ; 
je  me  fais  lire  tous  les  materiaux  que  j’emploie,  car  je  ne  m’en  rapporte 
qu’a  moi-meine  pour  l’cxactitude  des  recherches  et  le  choix  des  notes.  II 
re'sulte  de  la  une  eertaiue  perte  de  temps.  Le  travail  est  long,  mais  voila 
tout  ;  je  marche  lentement  mais  je  marche.  II  n’y  a  qu’un  moment  diffi¬ 
cile,  e’est  le  passage  subit  de  l’ecriture  manuelle  a  la  dictee ;  auand  uno 
fois  ce  point  est  gagne',  on  ne  trouve  plus  de  veri  tables  e'pines.  Peut-etre, 
Monsieur,  avez-vous  dejii  l’habitude  de  dieter  It  un  secretaire;  si  ccla  est, 
mettez  vous  it  la  faire  exclusivement,  et  ne  vous  inquietez  pas  du  reste. 
En  quelques  semaines  vous  deviendrez  ce  que  je  suis  moi-meme,  aussi 
calrne,  aussi  present  d’esprit  pour  tous  les  de'tails  du  style  que  si  je 
travaillais  avec  mes  yeux,  la  plume  a  la  main.  Ce  n’est  pas  au  point  oil 
vous  etes  parvenu  qu’on  s’arrete  ;  vous  avez  eprouve'  vos  forces  ;  elles  ne 
vous  manqueront  pas  ;  et  le  succCs  est  certain  pour  tout  ce  que  vous  ten- 
terez  de'formais.  Je  suivrai  de  loin  vos  travaux  avec  la  sympathie  d’un 
ami  de  votre  gloire ;  croyez  le,  Monsieur,  et  agre'ez  avec  mes  remerciments 
les  plus  vifs,  1’ assurance  de  mes  sentiments  d’affection  et  d’admiration. 

P.  Augustin  Thiebby. 

22  Fevrier,  1848. 


FROM  MR.  HALLAM. 

Wilton  Crescent,  London,  July  18,  1848. 

My  dear  Sir, 

I  hope  that  you  will  receive  with  this  letter,  or  at  least  very  soon  after¬ 
wards,  a  volume  which  I  have  intrusted  to  the  care  of  our  friend,  Mr. 
Bancroft.9  It  contains  only  the  gleanings  of  the  harvest,  and  I  can 
hardly  find  a  sufficiently  modest  name  for  it.  After  thirty  years  I  found 
more  to  add,  and,  I  must  say,  more  to  correct,  in  my  work  on  the  “  Mid¬ 
dle  Ages,”  than  could  well  be  brought  into  the  foot-notes  of  a  new  edition. 
I  have  consequently  produced,  under  the  title  “  Supplemental  Notes,” 

8  Then  Minister  of  the  United  States  in  London. 


LETTER  FROM  THE  EARL  OF  CARLISLE. 


257 


almost  a  new  volume,  but  referring  throughout  to  the  original  work,  so 
that  it  cannot  be  of  any  utility  to  those  who  do  not  compare  the  two. 
This  is,  perhaps,  rather  a  clumsy  kind  of  composition,  and  I  am  far  from 
expecting  much  reputation  by  it :  but  I  really  hope  that  it  may  be  useful 
to  the  readers  of  the  former  volumes.  A  great  deal  required  expansion 
and  illustration,  besides  what  I  must  in  penitence  confess  to  be  the  over¬ 
sights  and  errors  of  the  work  itself.  I  have  great  pleasure,  however,  in 
sending  copies  to  my  friends,  both  here  and  what  few  I  possess  in  the 
United  States ;  and  among  them  I  am  proud  to  rank  your  name,  sep¬ 
arated  as  we  are  by  the  Atlantic  barrier,  which  at  my  age  it  would  be  too 
adventurous  to  pass.  Rumors  have  from  time  to  time  reached  me,  that, 
notwithstanding  the  severe  visitation  of  Providence  under  which  you  labor, 
you  have  contemplated  yourself  so  arduous  a  voyage.  May  you  have 
health  and  spirits  to  accomplish  it,  while  I  yet  remain  on  earth !  But  I 
have  yesterday  entered  my  seventy-second  year. 

I  will  not  speak  of  the  condition  of  Europe.  You  have  been  conver¬ 
sant  with  the  history  of  great  and  rapid  revolutions ;  but  nothing  in  the 
past  annals  of  mankind  can  be  set  by  the  side  of  the  last  months.  We 
rejoice  in  trembling,  that  God  has  hitherto  spared  this  nation  ;  but  the 
principles  of  disintegration,  which  France  and  Germany  are  so  terribly 
suffering  under,  cannot  but  be  at  work  among  us. 

I  trust  that  you  are  proceeding  as  rapidly  as  circumstances  will  permit 
with  your  fourth  great  History,  that  of  Philip  the  Second.  It  always 
appears  marvellous  to  me,  how  you  achieve  so  much  under  so  many  im¬ 
pediments. 

Believe  me,  my  dear  sir. 

Most  faithfully  yours, 

Henry  Hallam. 


TO  MRS.  LYELL. 

Naiiant,  Fitful  Head,  Aug.  5,  1848. 

. We  are  passing  our  summer  in  our  rocky  eyrie  at  Nahant,  tak¬ 
ing  in  the  cool  breezes  that  blow  over  the  waters,  whose  spray  is  dashing 
up  incessantly  under  my  window.  I  am  idly-busy  with  looking  over  my 
Philip  the  Second  collection,  like  one  who  looks  into  the  dark  gulf,  into 
which  he  is  afraid  to  plunge.  Had  I  half  an  eye  in  my  head,  I  should  not 
“  stand  shivering  on  the  brink  ”  so  long.  The  Ticknors  are  at  a  very 
pleasant  place  on  the  coast,  some  twenty  miles  off,  at  Manchester.  I  hear 
from  them  constantly,  but  see  them  rarely. 


FROM  THE  EARL  OF  CARLISLE. 

London,  Nov.  18,  1848. 

Mr  dear  Prescott, 

I  sadly  fear  that,  if  a  strict  investigation  of  my  last  date  took  place,  it 
would  be  found  that  I  had  lagged  behind  the  yearly  bargain ;  and  I  fear  I 
am  the  delinquent.  I  will  honestly  own  why  I  put  off  writing  for  some 

Q 


258 


WILLIAM  IIICKLLNG  PRESCOTT. 


time;  I  wished  to  have  read  your  “  Peru”  before  I  did  so,  and  to  tell  you 
what  I  thought  of  it.  I  will  carry  my  honesty  further,  and  intrepidly 
avow,  that  I  still  labor  under  the  same  disqualification,  though  in  fact  this 
is  both  my  shame  and  my  merit,  for  I  am  very  sure  it  would  have  been  a 
far  more  agreeable  and  delightful  occupation  to  me  than  the  many  tedious, 
harassing  shreds  of  business  which  engross  and  rule  all  my  horns.  I  can 
as  honestly  tell  you,  that  I  have  heard  very  high  and  most  concurrent 
praise  of  it,  and  there  are  many  who  prefer  it  to  “  Mexico.”  I  wonder 
what  you  are  engaged  upon  now ;  is  it  the  ancient  project  of  “  Philip  the 
Second  ”  t 

Europe  is  in  the  meanwhile  acting  history  faster  than  you  can  write  it. 
The  web  becomes  more  inextricable  every  day,  and  the  tissues  do  not  wear 
lighter  hues.  I  think  our  two  Saxon  families  present  very  gratifying  con¬ 
trasts,  on  the  whole,  to  all  this  fearful  pother. 

You  will  probably  be  aware,  that  my  thoughts  and  feelings  must  have 
of  late  been  mainly  concentrated  upon  a  domestic  bereavement,10  and,  at 
the  end  of  my  letter,  you  will  read  a  new  name.  After  my  long  silence,  I 
was  really  anxious  to  take  a  very  early  opportunity  of  assuring  you  that  it 
inherits  and  hopes  to  perpetuate  all  the  esteem  and  affection  for  you  that 
were  acquired  under  the  old  one.  My  dear  friend,  absence  and  distance 
only  rivet  on  my  spirit  the  delight  of  claiming  communion  with  such  a  one 
as  yours;  for  I  am  sure  it  is  still  as  bright,  gentle,  and  high-toned,  as 
when  I  first  gave  myself  to  its  spell. 

I  must  not  write  to  his  brother-historian  without  mentioning  that  Ma¬ 
caulay  tells  me  the  two  first  volumes  of  bis  History  will  be  out  in  less  than 
a  fortnight.  Tell  Sumner  how  unchangedly  I  feel  towards  him,  though, 
I  fear,  I  have  been  equally  guilty  to  him. 

Does  Mrs.  Ticknor  still  remember  me  ? 

Ever,  my  dear  Prescott, 

Affectionately  yours, 

Carlisl*. 


»  The  death  of  his  father,  sixth  Earl  of  Carlisle. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


1848. 

it*.  Motley.  —  Hesitation  about  beginning  tiie  History  of  Philip 
the  Second.  —  State  of  his  Sight  bad.  —  Preparations.  —  Doubts 
about  taking  the  whole  Subject.  —  Memoir  of  Pickering. — 
Early  Intimations  of  a  Life  of  Philip  the  Second.  —  Collec¬ 
tion  of  Materials  for  it.  —  Difficulty  of  getting  them.  — 
Greatly  assisted  by  Don  Pascual  de  Gayangos.  —  Materials  at 
last  ample.  —  Prints  for  his  own  Use  a  Portion  of  Ranke’s 
Spanish  Empire. 

SOMEWHAT  earlier  than  the  period  at  which  we  are  now 
arrived,  —  in  fact,  before  the  “  Conquest  of  Peru  ”  was 
published,  —  an  interesting  circumstance  occurred  connected 
immediately  with  the  “  History  of  Philip  the  Second,”  which 
Mr.  Prescott  was  at  this  time  just  about  to  undertake  in  ear¬ 
nest,  and  for  which  he  had  been  making  arrangements  and 
preparations  many  years.  I  refer  to  the  fact,  now  well  known, 
that  Mr.  J.  Lothrop  Motley,  who  has  since  gained  so  much 
honor  for  himself  and  for  his  country  as  an  historian,  was  — 
in  ignorance  of  Mr.  Prescott’s  purposes  —  already  occupied 
with  a  kindred  subject.1  The  moment,  therefore,  that  he  was 
aware  of  this  condition  of  things  and  the  consequent  possibility 
that  there  might  be  an  untoward  interference  in  their  plans,  he 
took  the  same  frank  and  honorable  course  with  Mr.  Prescott, 
that  Mr.  Prescott  had  taken  in  relation  to  Mr.  Irving,  when 
he  found  that  they  had  both  been  contemplating  a  “  History 
of  the  Conquest  of  Mexico.”  The  result  was  the  same.  Mr. 
Prescott,  instead  of  treating  the  matter  as  an  interference, 
earnestly  encouraged  Mr.  Motley  to  go  on,  and  placed  at  his 
disposition  such  of  the  books  in  his  library  as  could  be  useful 
to  him.  How  amply  and  promptly  he  did  it,  Mr.  Motley’s 
own  account  will  best  show.  It  is  in  a  letter,  dated  at  Rome, 
26th  February,  1859,  —  the  day  he  heard  of  Mr.  Prescott’s 


'  “  The  Bise  of  the  Dutch  Republic,”  not  published  until  1856. 


260 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


Jeath,  —  and  was  addressed  to  his  intimate  friend,  Mr.  William 
Amoiy,  of  Boston,  Mr.  Prescott’s  much  loved  brother-in-law. 

It  seems  to  me  but  as  yesterday,  though  it  must  be  now  twelve  years 
ago,  that  I  was  talking  with  our  ever-lamented  friend  Stackpole2  about 
my  intention  of  writing  a  history  upon  a  subject  to  which  I  have  since 
that  time  been  devoting  myself.  I  had  then  made  already  some  general 
studies  in  reference  to  it,  without  being  in  the  least  aware  that  Prescott 
had  the  intention  of  writing  the  “  History  of  Philip  the  Second.”  Stack- 
pole  had  heard  the  fact,  and  that  large  preparations  had  already  been  made 
for  the  work,  although  “Peru”  had  not  yet  been  published.  I  felt  nat¬ 
urally  much  disappointed.  I  was  conscious  of  the  immense  disadvantage 
to  myself  of  making  my  appearance,  probably  at  the  same  time,  before  the 
public,  with  a  work,  not  at  all  similar  in  plan  to  Philip  the  Second,  but 
which  must,  of  necessity,  traverse  a  portion  of  the  same  ground. 

My  first  thought  was  inevitably,  as  it  were,  only  of  myself.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  I  had  nothing  to  do,  but  to  abandon  at  once  a  cherished  dream, 
and  probably  to  renounce  authorship.  For  I  had  not  first  made  up  my 
mind  to  write  a  history,  and  then  cast  about  to  take  up  a  subject.  My 
subject  had  taken  me  up,  drawn  me  on,  and  absorbed  me  into  itself.  It 
was  necessary  for  me,  it  seemed,  to  write  the  book  I  had  been  thinking 
much  of,  eveu  if  it  were  destined  to  fall  dead  from  the  press,  and  I  had  no 
inclination  or  interest  to  write  any  other.  When  I  had  made  up  my  miud 
accordingly,  it  then  occurred  to  me  that  Prescott  might  not  be  pleased 
that  I  should  come  forward  upon  his  ground.  It  is  true,  that  no  announce¬ 
ment  of  his  intentions  had  been  made,  and  that  he  had  not,  I  believe,  even 
commenced  his  preliminary  studies  for  Philip.  At  the  same  time,  I  thought 
it  would  be  disloyal  on  my  part  not  to  go  to  him  at  once,  confer  with  him 
on  the  subject,  and,  if  I  should  find  a  shadow  of  dissatisfaction  on  his  mind 
at  my  proposition,  to  abandon  my  plan  altogether. 

I  had  only  the  slightest  acquaintance  with  him  at  that  time.  I  was 
comparatively  a  young  man,  and  certainly  not  entitled,  on  any  ground,  to 
more  than  the  common  courtesy  which  Prescott  never  could  refuse  to  any 
one.  But  he  received  me  with  such  a  frank  and  ready  and  liberal  sym¬ 
pathy,  and  such  an  open-hearted,  guileless  expansiveness,  that  I  felt  a 
personal  affection  for  him  from  that  hour.  I  remember  the  interview  as 
if  it  had  taken  place  yesterday.  It  was  in  his  father’s  house,  in  Ins  own 
library,  looking  on  the  garden.  House  and  garden,  honored  father  and 
illustrious  son,  —  alas !  all  numbered  with  the  things  that  were  1  He  as¬ 
sured  me  that  he  had  not  the  slightest  objection  whatever  to  my  plan, 
that  he  wished  me  every  success,  and  that,  if  there  were  any  books  in  his 
library  bearing  on  my  subject  that  I  liked  to  use,  they  were  entirely  at 
my  service.  After  I  had  expressed  my  gratitude  for  his  kindness  and  cor¬ 
diality,  by  which  I  had  been,  in  a  very  few  moments,  set  completely  at 
ease,  —  so  far  as  my  fears  of  his  disapprobation  went,  —  I  also,  very  nat 
urally  stated  my  opinion,  that  the  danger  was  entirely  mine,  and  that  it 

s  Mr.  J.  L.  Stackpole,  a  gentleman  of  much  cultivation,  and  a  kinsman  of 
Mr.  Motley  by  marriage,  was  suddenly  killed  by  a  railroad  accident  in 
1847. 


LETTER  OF  MR.  MOTLEY  TO  MR.  AMORY. 


2G1 


was  rather  wilful  of  me  thus  to  risk  such  a  collision  at  my  first  venture, 
the  probable  cousequence  of  which  was  utter  shipwreck.  I  recollect  how 
kindly  and  warmly  he  combated  this  opinion,  assuring  me  that  no  two 
books,  as  he  said,  ever  injured  each  other,  and  encouraging  me  in  the 
warmest  and  most  earnest  manner  to  proceed  on  the  course  I  had  marked 
out  for  myself. 

Had  the  result  of  that  interview  been  different,  —  had  he  distinctly 
stated,  or  even  vaguely  hinted,  that  it  would  be  as  well  if  I  should  select 
some  other  topic,  or  had  he  only  sprinkled  me  with  the  cold  water  of  con¬ 
ventional  and  commonplace  encouragement,  —  I  should  have  gone  from 
him  with  a  chill  upon  my  mind,  and,  no  doubt,  have  laid  down  the  pen  at 
once  ;  for,  as  I  have  already  said,  it  was  not  that  I  cared  about  writing  a 
history,  but  that  I  felt  an  inevitable  impulse  to  write  me  particular  history. 

You  know  how  kindly  he  always  spoke  of  and  to  me  ;  and  the  generous 
manner  in  which,  without  the  slightest  hint  from  me,  and  entirely  unex¬ 
pected  by  me,  he  attracted  the  eyes  of  his  hosts  of  readers  to  my  forth¬ 
coming  work,  by  so  handsomely  alluding  to  it  in  the  Preface  to  his  own, 
must  be  almost  as  fresh  in  your  memory  as  it  is  in  mine. 

And  although  it  seems  easy  enough  for  a  man  of  world-wide  reputation 
thus  to  extend  the  right  hand  of  fellowship  to  an  unknown  and  struggling 
aspirant,  yet  I  fear  that  the  history  of  literature  will  show  that  such  in¬ 
stances  of  disinterested  kindness  are  as  rare  as  they  are  noble. 3 

To  this  frank  and  interesting  statement  I  can  add,  that  Mr. 
Prescott  told  it  all  to  me  at  the  time,  and  then  asked  me 
whether  I  would  not  advise  him  to  offer  Mr.  Motley  the  use 
of  his  manuscript  collections  for  “  Philip  the  Second,”  as  he 
had  already  offered  that  of  his  printed  books.  I  told  him,  that 
I  thought  Mr.  Motley  would  hardly  be  willing  to  accept  such 
an  offer ;  and,  besides,  that,  if  there  were  anything  peculiarly 
his  own,  and  which  he  should  feel  bound  to  reserve,  as  giving 
especial  authority  and  value  to  his  History,  it  must  be  the 
materials  he  had,  at  so  much  pains  and  cost,  collected  from 
the  great  archives  and  libraries  all  over  Europe.  The  idea,  I 
confess,  struck  me  as  somewhat  extravagant,  and  no  doubt  he 
would  have  felt  pain  in  giving  away  personal  advantages  so 
obvious,  so  great,  and  so  hardly  earned ;  but,  from  the  good- 

*  The  whole  of  this  striking  letter  is  to  be  found  in  the  Proceedings  of 
the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society  for  1858,  1859,  pp.  266  -  271.  It  is  a 
true  and  touching  tribute  to  Mr.  Prescott’s  personal  character  and  intellect¬ 
ual  eminence,  the  more  to  be  valued,  since,  in  1860,  Mr.  Motley  was  elected 
to  the  place  left  vacant  in  the  French  Institute  by  Mr.  Prescott’s  death,  —  an 
honor  not  only  fit  in  itself,  but  peculiarly  appropriate,  since  it  preserves  the 
succession  of  Spanish  historians  in  the  same  chair  unbroken,  from  the  time 
of  Navarrete’s  election,  half  a  century  earlier. 


262 


WILLIAM  HICKLTNG  PRESCOTT. 


ness  of  Ms  nature,  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  was  capable  of  the 
sacrifice. 

In  due  time,  as  we  have  seen,  the  “  Conquest  of  Peru  ”  was 
published ;  and  Mr.  Prescott  naturally  turned  to  the  next  great 
work  he  was  to  undertake,  and  wMch  had  been  ten  years,  at 
least,  among  Ms  well-digested  plans  for  the  future. 

His  position  for  such  an  undertaking  was,  in  many  respects, 
fortunate.  The  state  of  Ms  eyes  indeed  was  bad,  and  his  gen¬ 
eral  health  seemed  a  little  shaken.  But  he  was  only  fifty-two 
years  old  ;  his  spirits  and  courage  were  as  high  as  they  had 
been  in  Ms  youth  ;  his  practice  as  a  writer  and  his  experience 
of  the  peculiar  difficulties  he  had  to  encounter  were  as  great  as 
they  well  could  be  ;  and,  above  all,  success  had  set  a  seal  on 
his  previous  brilliant  efforts  which  seemed  to  make  the  future 
sure. 

Still  he  paused.  The  last  sheets  of  the  “  Conquest  of  Peru  ” 
were  corrected  for  the  press,  and  the  work  was  therefore  en¬ 
tirely  off  his  hands,  in  March,  1847  ;  as,  in  fact,  it  had  been 
substantially  since  the  preceding  October.  But  in  March, 
1848,  he  could  not  be  said  to  have  begun  in  earnest  Ms  studies 
for  the  reign  of  Philip  the  Second.  This  long  hesitation  was 
owing  in  part  to  the  reluctance  that  always  held  him  back  from 
entering  promptly  on  any  new  field  of  labor,  and  partly  to  the 
condition  of  Ids  sight. 

The  last,  in  fact,  had  now  become  a  subject  of  such  serious 
consideration  and  anxiety,  as  he  had  not  felt  for  many  years. 
The  power  of  using  his  eye  —  Ms  only  eye,  it  should  always 
be  remembered  —  had  been  gradually  reduced  again,  until  it 
did  not  exceed  one  hour  a  day,  and  that  divided  into  two  por¬ 
tions,  at  considerable  intervals  from  each  other.  On  exami¬ 
nation,  the  retina  was  found  to  be  affected  anew,  and  incipient 
amaurosis,  or  decay  of  the  nerve,  was  announced.  Hopes  were 
held  out  by  an  oculist  who  visited  Boston  at  tMs  period,  and 
whom  Mr.  Prescott  consulted  for  the  first  time,  that  relief 
more  or  less  considerable  might  still  be  found  in  the  resources 
of  the  healing  art,  and  that  he  might  yet  be  enabled  to  prose¬ 
cute  his  labors  as  well  as  he  had  done.  But  he  could  not  accept 
these  hopes,  much  as  he  desired  to  do  so.  He  knew  that  for 
tliirty-four  years  one  eye  had  been  compelled  to  do  the  work  of 


JlSCOURAGEMENT. 


263 


two,  and  that  the  labor  thus  thrown  upon  the  single  organ  — 
however  carefully  he  had  managed  and  spared  it  —  had  been 
more  than  it  could  bear.  He  felt  that  its  powers  were  decay¬ 
ing  ;  in  some  degree,  no  doubt,  from  advancing  years,  but  more 
from  overwork,  which  yet  could  not  have  been  avoided  with¬ 
out  abandoning  the  main  hopes  of  his  literary  life.  He  there¬ 
fore  resorted  for  counsel  to  physicians  of  eminence,  who  were 
his  friends,  but  who  were  not  professed  oculists,  and  laid  his 
case  before  them.  It  was  not  new  to  them.  They  had  known 
it  already  in  most  of  its  aspects,  but  they  now  gave  to  it  again 
their  most  careful  consideration.  The  result  of  their  judg¬ 
ment  coincided  with  his  own  previously  formed  opinion ;  and, 
under  their  advice,  he  deliberately  made  up  his  mind,  as  he 
has  recorded  it,  “  to  relinquish  all  use  of  the  eye  for  the  future 
in  his  studies,  and  to  be  content  if  he  could  preserve  it  for  the 
more  vulgar  purposes  of  life.” 

It  was  a  hard  decision.  I  am  not  certain  that  he  made  it 
without  a  lingering  hope,  such  as  we  are  all  apt  to  indulge, 
even  in  our  darkest  moments,  concerning  whatever  regards 
health  and  life ;  —  a  hope,  I  mean,  that  there  might  still  be  a 
revival  of  power  in  the  decayed  organ,  and  that  it  might  still 
serve  him,  in  some,  degree,  as  it  had  done,  if  not  to  the  same 
extent.  But  if  he  had  such  a  hope,  he  was  careful  not  to  fos¬ 
ter  it  or  rely  on  it.  His  record  on  this  point  is  striking  and 
decisive. 

Thus  was  I  in  a  similar  situation  with  that  in  which  I  found  myself 
on  beginning  the  “  History  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  ” ;  —  with  this 
important  difference.  Then  I  had  hopes  to  cheer  me  on ;  the  hope  of 
future  improvement,  as  the  trouble  then  arose  from  an  excessive  sensi¬ 
bility  of  the  nerve.  But  this  hope  has  now  left  me,  and  forever.  And 
whatever  plans  I  am  to  make  of  future  study  must  be  formed  on  the  same 
calculations  as  those  of  a  blind  man.  As  this  desponding  conviction 
pressed  on  me,  it  is  no  wonder  that  I  should  have  paused  and  greatly 
hesitated  before  involving  myself  in  the  labyrinth  of  researches  relating  to 
one  of  the  most  busy,  comprehensive,  and  prolific  periods  of  European 
history.  The  mere  sight  of  this  collection  from  the  principal  libraries 
and  archives  of  Europe,  which  might  have  daunted  the  resolution  of  a 
younger  man,  in  the  possession  of  his  faculties,  filled  me  with  apprehen¬ 
sion  bordering  on  despair ;  and  I  must  be  pardoned  if  I  had  not  the 
heart  to  plunge  at  once  into  the  arena,  and,  blindfold  as  I  was,  engage 
again  in  the  conflict. 

And  then  I  felt  how  slow  must  be  my  progress.  Any  one  who  has  had 


2G4 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


occasion  to  consult  numerous  authorities,  —  and  those,  too,  in  foreign  Ian- 
guages,  —  for  every  sentence,  will  understand  how  slow  and  perplexing. 
And  though,  once  entered  on  this  career,  I  could  have  gone  on  in  spite 
of  obstacles,  as,  at  times,  I  had  already  done,  yet  I  hesitated  before  thus 
voluntarily  encountering  them. 

The  first  six  months  after  the  publication  of  my  “  Peru  ”  were  passed 
in  that  kind  of  literary  loafing  in  which  it  is  not  unreasonable  to  indulge 
after  the  completion  of  a  long  work.  As  I  tired  of  this,  I  began  to 
coquet  with  my  Philip  the  Second,  by  reading,  or  rather  listening  to,  the 
English  histories  which  had  any  bearing  on  the  story,  and  which  could 
show  me  the  nature  and  compass  of  it.  Thus,  I  have  heard  Robertson’s 
“  Charles  the  Fifth,”  Whitson's  “  Philip  the  Second,”  Ranke’s  “  Popes,” 
and  other  works  of  Ranke  and  Von  Raumer  done  into  English,  and 
Dunham’s  volume  relating  to  the  period  in  his  “  Spain  and  Portugal.” 
I  have,  also,  with  the  aid  of  my  Secretary,  turned  over  the  title-pages  and 
got  some  idea  of  the  contents  of  my  books  and  manuscripts; — a  truly 
precious  collection  of  rarities,  throwing  light  on  the  darkest  corners  of 
this  long,  eventful,  and,  in  some  respects,  intricate  history. 

The  result  of  the  examination  suggests  to  me  other  ideas.  There  is  so 
much  incident  in  this  fruitful  reign,  —  so  many  complete  and  interesting 
episodes,  as  it  were,  to  the  main  story,  —  that  it  now  occurs  to  me  I  may 
find  it  expedient  to  select  one  of  them  for  my  subject,  instead  of  attempt¬ 
ing  the  ivhole.  Thus,  for  example,  we  have  the  chivalrous  and  fatal  expe¬ 
dition  of  Don  Sebastian  and  the  conquest  of  Portugal ;  the  romantic 
siege  of  Malta  ;  the  glorious  war  of  the  revolution  in  the  United  Provin¬ 
ces.  This  last  is  by  far  the  greatest  theme,  and  has  some  qualities  —  as 
those  of  unity,  moral  interest,  completeness,  and  momentous  and  benefi¬ 
cent  results  —  which  may  recommend  it  to  the  historian,  who  has  the 
materials  for  both  at  his  command,  in  preference  to  the  Reign  of  Philip 
the  Second. 

One  obvious  advantage  to  me  in  my  crippled  state  is,  that  it  would  not 
require  more  than  half  the  amount  of  reading  that  the  other  subject  would. 
But  this  is  a  decision  not  lightly  to  be  made,  and  I  have  not  yet  pondered 
it  as  I  must.  Something,  I  already  feel,  I  must  do.  This  life  of  far 
niente  is  becoming  oppressive,  and  “  I  begin  to  be  aweary  of  the  sun.”  I 
am  no  longer  young,  certainly;  but  at  fifty-two  a  man  must  be  even  more 
crippled  than  I  am  to  be  entitled  to  an  honorable  discharge  from  service 

With  such  mingled  feelings,  —  disheartened  by  the  condition 
of  his  eye,  and  yet  wearied  out  with  the  comparative  idleness 
his  infirmity  had  forced  upon  him,  —  it  is  not  remarkable  that 
he  should  have  hesitated  still  longer  about  a  great  undertaking, 
the  ample  materials  for  which  lay  spread  out  before  him.  J ust 
at  this  time,  too,  other  things  attracted  his  attention,  or  de¬ 
manded  it,  and  he  gladly  occupied  himself  with  them,  feeling 
that  they  were  at  least  an  apology  for  not  turning  at  once  to 
his  severer  work. 


DOUBTS. 


265 


One  of  these  was  a  Memoir  of  Mr.  John  Pickering,  a  wise, 
laborious,  accurate  scholar,  worthy  every  way  to  be  the  son  of 
that  faithful  statesman,  who  not  only  tilled  the  highest  places 
in  the  government  under  Washington,  but  was  Washington’s 
personal,  trusted  friend.  This  Memoir  the  Massachusetts 
Historical  Society  had  appointed  Mr.  Prescott  to  prepare 
for  its  Collections,  and  his  memorandum  shows  with  what  feel¬ 
ings  of  affection  and  respect  he  undertook  the  work  assigned 
to  him. 

“  It  will  not  be  long,”  he  says,  “  but,  long  or  short,  it  will  be  a  labor 
of  love ;  for  there  is  no  man  whom  I  honored  more  than  this  eminent 
scholar,  estimable  alike  for  the  qualities  of  his  heart  and  for  the  gifts  of 
his  mind.  He  was  a  true  and  kind  friend  to  me ;  and,  from  the  first 
moment  of  my  entering  on  my  historic  career  down  to  the  close  of  his 
life,  he  watched  over  my  literary  attempts  with  the  deepest  interest.  It 
will  be  a  sad  pleasure  for  me  to  pay  an  honest  tribute  to  the  good  man’s 
worth.” 

The  Memoir  is  not  long  nor  eulogistic ;  but  as  a  biography  it 
is  faithful  and  sincere,  and  renders  to  Mr.  Pickering’s  intellect¬ 
ual  and  moral  character  the  honors  it  so  richly  deserved.  The 
style  throughout  is  simple  and  graceful,  without  the  slight¬ 
est  approach  to  exaggeration  ;  such,  in  short,  as  was  becom¬ 
ing  the  modest  man  to  whose  memory  the  Memoir  itself  was 
devoted.4 

Another  of  the  subjects  that  occupied  a  good  deal  of  his 
time  during  the  spring  of  1848  was  a  careful  revision  which  he 
gave  to  my  manuscript  “  History  of  Spanish  Literature,”  then 
nearly  ready  for  the  press.  It  was  an  act  of  kindness  for 
which  I  shall  always  feel  grateful,  and  the  record  of  which  I 
preserve  with  care,  as  a  proof  how  faithful  he  was  and  how 
frank.  It  took  him  some  weeks,  —  too  many,  if  he  had  not 
then  been  more  than  usually  idle,  or,  at  least,  if  he  had  not 
deemed  himself  to  be  so. 

But  he  was  not  really  idle.  In  comparison  with  those  days 
of  severe  activity  which  he  sometimes  gave  to  his  “  Mexico,” 
when  his  eyes  permitted  him  to  do  for  two  or  three  hours  a 
day  what  he  could  never  do  afterwards,  his  work  might  not 

4  It  is  in  the  “  Collections  of  the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society, ’’ 
Third  Series,  Vol.  X. 

12 


266 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  1’RESCOIT. 


now  be  accounted  bard  ;  but  still,  during  tbe  summer  of  1848, 
it  was  real  work,  continuous  and  effective. 

The  great  subject  of  the  reign  of  Philip  the  Second  had,  as  I 
have  already  intimated,  been  many  years  in  his  mind.  As  early 
as  the  spring  of  1838,  when  he  had  only  just  sent  to  Madrid 
for  the  materials  on  which  to  found  his  histories  of  the  Con¬ 
quest  of  Mexico  and  Peru,  and  while  he  was  still  uncertain  of 
success  about  obtaining  them,  he  said :  “  Should  I  succeed  in 
my  present  collections,  who  knows  what  facilities  I  may  find 
for  making  one  relative  to  Philip  the  Second’s  reign,  —  a  fruit¬ 
ful  theme  if  discussed  under  all  its  relations,  civil  and  literary 
as  well  as  military,  the  last  of  which  seems  alone  to  have  occu¬ 
pied  the  attention  of  Watson.” 

In  fact,  from  tliis  time,  although  he  may  occasionally  have 
had  doubts  or  misgivings  in  relation  to  his  resources  for  writing 
it,  the  subject  itself  of  the  reign  of  Philip  the  Second  was 
never  long  out  of  his  mind.  Somewhat  more  than  a  year  later 
he  says  :  “  By  advices  from  Madrid  this  week,  I  learn  that  the 
archives  of  Simancas  are  in  so  disorderly  a  state,  that  it  is  next 
to  impossible  to  gather  materials  for  the  reign  of  Philip  the 
Second.  I  shall  try,  however  ”  ;  —  adding  that,  unless  he  can 
obtain  the  amplest  collections,  both  printed  and  manuscript,  he 
shall  not  undertake  the  work  at  all. 

The  letters  to  which  he  refers  were  very  discouraging.  One 
was  from  Dr.  Lembke,  who  had  so  well  served  him  in  collect¬ 
ing  manuscripts  and  books  for  his  Conquests  of  Mexico  and 
Peru,  but  who  seemed  now  to  think  it  would  be  very  difficult 
to  get  access  to  the  archives  of  Simancas,  and  who  was  assured 
by  Navarrete,  that,  even  if  he  were  on  the  spot,  he  would  find 
everything  in  confusion,  and  nobody  competent  to  direct  or 
assist  his  researches.  The  other  letter,  which  was  from  the 
Secretary  of  the  American  Legation,  —  his  old  college  friend, 
Middleton,  —  was  still  more  discouraging. 

*<I  enclose  you,”  he  writes,  “Lembke’s  letter,  and  confirm  what  he 
says  as  to  the  difficulty  of  getting  at  the  Simancas  papers,  or  even  obtain¬ 
ing  any  definite  notion  of  their  subjects.  A  young  gentleman  who  had 
free  access  to  them  during  six  months,  under  the  auspices  of  a  learned 
professor,  assured  me  that,  with  the  exception  of  those  relating  to  the 
Bourbon  dynasty  (i.  e.  since  1700),  the  papers  are  all  thrown  together 
without  order  or  index.  Whatever  step,  therefore,  you  may  be  inclined 


MATERIALS  FOR  THE  HISTORY  OF  PHILIP  THE  SECOND.  267 


to  take  in  the  matter,  would  be  a  speculation,  and  the  question  is,  whether 
it  would  be  worth  your  while.”  6 

But,  as  Mr.  Prescott  well  knew,  Simancas  must  necessarily 
be  the  great  depository  for  original,  unpublished  documents 
relating  to  the  reign  of  Philip  the  Second,  the  collection  of 
which  was  begun  there  by  that  monarch ;  and  he  therefore 
determined  to  persevere  in  his  efforts,  and  by  some  means 
obtain  access  to  them.  Indeed,  as  we  have  all  along  seen,  he 
was  not  of  a  temper  readily  to  give  up  anything  important 
which  he  had  once  delibex-ately  undertaken. 

Just  at  this  moment,  however,  he  was  deprived  of  the  ser¬ 
vices  of  Dr.  Lembke.  That  gentleman  had  become  obnoxious 
to  the  Spanish  government,  and  was  ordered  out  of  the  country 
with  hardly  the  fox  mality  of  a  warning.  But  his  first  refuge 
was  Paris,  and  there  he  was  again  able  to  be  useful  to  Mr. 
Prescott.  M.  Mignet  and  M.  Ternaux-Compans  opened  to 
him  freely  their  own  rich  manuscript  collections,  and  indicated 
to  him  yet  other  collections,  from  which  also  he  caused  copies 
to  be  made  of  documents  touching  the  affaii'S  of  Philip.  But 
Dr.  Lembke,  I  think,  remained  in  Paris  only  a  few  months,  and 
never  was  able  to  return  to  Madrid,  as  he  intended  and  hoped 
when  he  left  it.  His  services  to  Mr.  Prescott,  therefore,  which 
had  been,  up  to  this  time,  both  important  and  kind,  could  no 
longer  be  counted  upon. 

Happily,  however,  Mr.  Prescott  was  now  able  to  turn  to  Don 
Pascual  de  Gayangos,  the  Spanish  scholar,  who,  as  we  have 
noticed,  had  written  eighteen  months  earlier  a  pleasant  article 
in  the  “Edinburgh  Review”  on  “Ferdinand  and  Isabella,” 
and  who  was  now  in  London  publishing  for  “  The  Oriental 
Fund  Society  ”  his  translation  of  A1  Makkari  on  the  Moham¬ 
medan  rule  in  Spain.  Some  correspondence  of  a  friendly 
nature  had  already  passed  between  them,6  and  Mr.  Prescott 

*  These  letters  were  written  in  1839.  In  1841,  Mr.  Middleton  ceased  to  be 
connected  with  the  Spanish  Legation.  When  Mr.  Prescott  received  the  last 
results  of  his  friend’s  care  for  his  wants,  he  said:  “  I  have  received  another 
supply,  —  the  last  of  the  manuscripts  from  Middleton,  in  Madrid.  I  lose 
there  a  good  friend,  who  has  been  efficient  and  true  in  his  labors  for  me.” 

®  I  have  not  been  able  to  procure  the  earliest  letters  in  the  correspondence 
between  Mr.  Frescott  and  Don  Pascual  de  Gayangos,  and  suppose  they  are 
lost.  The  earliest  one  that  has  come  to  my  hands  is  from  Don  Pascual,  and 


2C8 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


now  asked  Don  Pascual’s  counsel  and  aid  in  collecting  the 
materials  he  needed  for  his  work  on  the  reign  of  Philip  the 
Second.  He  could  not  have  addressed  himself  more  fortu¬ 
nately.  Don  Pascual  entered  into  the  literary  projects  of  Mr. 
Prescott,  as  we  have  already  seen,  in  his  previous  correspond¬ 
ence,  with  great  disinterestedness  and  zeal.  He  at  once  caused 
above  eighteen  hundred  pages  of  manuscript  to  be  copied  in 
the  British  Museum  and  the  State-Paper  Office,  London,  and 
went  with  an  assistant,  to  the  remarkable  collection  of  Sir 
Thomas  Piiillips,  in  Worcestershire,  where  he  again  obtained 
much  that  proved  valuable.  Subsequently  he  visited  Brussels, 
and,  with  letters  from  Mr.  Van  de  Weyer,  the  accomplished 
Minister  of  Belgium  in  London,  was  permitted  to  take  copies 
of  whatever  could  be  found  in  the  archives  there.  Still  later, 
he  went  to  Paris,  and,  assisted  by  M.  Mignet,  discovered  other 
rich  materials,  which  were  immediately  transcribed  and  sent 
to  their  destination.  The  mass  cf  manuscripts  was,  therefore, 
in  1842,  already  considerable. 

But  Spain  was,  after  all,  the  country  where  the  chief  mate¬ 
rials  for  such  a  subject  were  to  be  found ;  and  nobody  knew 
this  better  than  Mr.  Prescott.  While,  therefore,  he  neglected 
no  resource  outside  of  the  Pyrenees  ;  and  while,  by  the  kind¬ 
ness  of  Mr.  Edward  Everett,  our  statesman  at  once  and  our 
scholar,  who  happened  then  to  be  in  Florence ;  by  that  of  Dr. 
Ferdinand  Wolf  of  Vienna,  learned  in  everything  Spanish  ;  and 
by  that  of  Humboldt  and  Ranke,  at  Berlin,  each  primus  inter 
pares  on  such  matters,  he  had  obtained  a  great  deal  that  was 
most  welcome  from  the  public  offices  and  libraries  of  Tuscany, 
Austria,  Prussia,  and  Gotha,  —  still  he  kept  his  eye  fastened 
on  Spain,  as  the  main  resource  for  his  great  undertaking. 

Is  dated  Dec.  1, 1839.  From  this  I  infer  that  Mr.  Prescott  had  written  to 
him  on  the  30th  of  March  preceding,  to  thank  him  for  his  review  of  the 
“Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  and  on  the  6th of  July  concerning  his  literary 
projects  generally ;  but  that  illness  and  absence  from  London  had  prevented 
Don  Pascual  from  answering  earlier.  On  the  28th  of  December,  1841,  Mr. 
Prescott  records  in  his  memoranda:  “I  have  had  the  satisfaction  to  learn 
from  that  accomplished  scholar,  Gayangos,  that  he  will  undertake  the  col¬ 
lection  of  manuscripts  for  me  relating  to  Philip  the  Second’s  history,  so  far 
as  it  can  be  effected  in  Paris  and  London.”  A  part  of  Mr.  Prescott’s  corre¬ 
spondence  with  Don  Pascual  about  the  materials  for  a  history  of  Philip  the 
Second  has  already  been  given,  as  its  dates  required,  while  Mr.  Prescott  was 
emoloved  on  hi*  “  Cononest  of  Peru.” 


DON  PASCUAL  DE  GAYANGOS. 


269 


And  here  again  he  was  fortunate.  Don  Pascual  de  Gayan- 
gos,  having  finished  his  important  work  for  the  “  Oriental 
Fund,”  naturally  returned  to  Madrid,  with  whose  University 
he  became  connected  as  Professor  of  Arabic  Literature.  This 
was  in  1842,  and  from  that  time  he  never  ceased  to  send  Mr. 
Prescott,  not  only  rare  books  in  large  numbers,  but  manuscripts, 
both  original  and  copied,  of  the  greatest  value.7  Already,  in 
1849,  these  collections  seemed  to  be  complete  ;  but  for  several 
years  more  they  were  continued  and  increased.  The  muni¬ 
ment  rooms  of  the  great  families  in  Spain  —  the  Alvas,  the 
Santa  Cruz,  and  others  —  were  thrown  open ;  the  Public 
Archives,  the  National  Library,  in  short,  whatever  could  be 
used  as  a  resource,  were  all  visited  and  examined.  In  1844, 
Don  Pascual  spent  nearly  two  months  at  Simancas,  under  the 
most  favorable  auspices,  and  brought  away  and  subsequently 
secured,  from  this  great  treasure-house  and  tomb  of  the  Span¬ 
ish  government  and  its  diplomacy,  spoils  which  one  less  familiar 
with  the  history  of  the  times  would  hardly  have  been  able  to 
discover  amidst  the  confusion  that  had  so  long  reigned  there 
undisturbed. 

The  collection  thus  made  with  great  labor  in  the  course  of 
nearly  twenty  years  is,  no  doubt,  one  of  the  richest  and  most 
complete  ever  made  on  any  subject  of  historical  research.  Set¬ 
ting  aside  the  books  in  Mr.  Prescott’s  library  that  relate  only 
incidentally  to  the  affairs  of  Spain  in  the  sixteenth  century,  the 
number  of  which  is  very  considerable,  there  are  above  three 
hundred  and  seventy  volumes  that  regard  especially  the  times 
of  Philip  the  Second  ;  and,  when  the  manuscript  copies  that  had 
been  made  for  him  all  over  Europe  were  brought  together  and 
bound,  they  made  fifteen  thick  folios,  not  counting  those  which 
came  to  him  already  bound  up,  or  which  still  remain  unbound, 
to  the  amount  of  eight  or  ten  volumes  more.8  It  needed  many 

7  In  a  letter  to  Don  Pascual,  dated  March  27,  1842,  he  says:  “I  wish  you 
could  spend  only  three  months  in  Spain,  and  I  should  ask  no  better  luck.” 
And  again,  July  14:  “  It  will  be  very  fortunate  for  me,  if  you  can  visit  both 
Paris  and  Spain.  It  will  leave  me  nothing  to  desire.”  Before  the  year  was 
over,  this  wish  was  most  unexpectedly  fulfilled. 

8  The  greater  part  of  his  rich  collection  of  manuscripts  for  the  “  Mexico,” 
“  Peru,”  and  “  Philip  the  Second,”  stood  together,  well  bound  in  morocco, 
and  maae  quite  a  striking  appearance  in  his  library.  He  sometimes  called 
this  part  of  it  his  Seraglio.” 


270 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


skilful,  kind,  and  faithfnl  hands  in  many  countries  to  form  such 
a  collection  ;  but  without  the  assistance  of  a  scholar  to  superin¬ 
tend  and  direct  the  whole,  like  Don  Pascual  de  Gayangos,  full 
of  knowledge  on  the  particular  subject,  proud  of  his  country, 
whose  honor  he  knew  he  was  serving,  and  disinterested  as  a 
Spanish  hidalgo  of  the  olden  temper  and  loyalty,  Mr.  Prescott 
could  never  have  laid  the  foundations  he  did  for  his  “  History  of 
Philip  the  Second,”  or  executed  his  purpose  so  far  and  so  well. 

Some  of  these  treasures  arrived  in  the  course  of  the  last 
two  or  three  years  of  his  life  ;  but  most  of  them  were  already 
on  his  shelves  in  the  summer  of  1848,  when  he  had  not  yet 
given  himself  up  to  severe  labor  on  his  “  History  of  Philip 
the  Second,”  and  when,  indeed,  as  we  have  seen,  he  was  com¬ 
plaining  of  his  idleness.  But  he  was  somewhat  unjust  to  him¬ 
self  on  this  point  now,  as  he  had  occasionally  been  before.  He 
had  not,  in  fact,  been  idle  during  the  summer.  When  the 
autumn  set  in  and  he  returned  to  town,  he  had  read,  or  rather 
listened  to,  San  Miguel’s  “  Historia  de  Felipe  Segundo,”  pub¬ 
lished  between  1844  and  1847  in  four  goodly  octavos ;  the  “  His- 
toire  de  l’Espagne,”  by  Weiss  ;  the  portion  of  Tapia’s  “  Civili- 
zacion  Espanola,”  which  covers  the  sixteenth  century ;  and  the 
corresponding  parts  of  Sismondi’s  “  Histoire  des  Frangais,”  and 
of  Lingard’s  “  History  of  England.”  But,  above  all,  he  had 
read  and  studied  Ranke’s  “  Spanish  Empire  ” ;  a  book  which 
whoever  writes  on  the  history  of  Spain  must,  if  he  is  wise, 
consider  carefully  in  all  its  positions  and  conclusions.  In  his 
memoranda  Mr.  Prescott  truly  describes  Ranke  as  “  acute 
and  penetrating ;  gathering  his  information  from  sources  little 
known,  especially  the  reports  of  the  Venetian  Ambassadors.”® 
“  His  book,”  the  personal  memoranda  go  on,  “  contains  inesti¬ 
mable  material  for  a  more  minute  and  extended  history.  It 
is  a  sort  of  skeleton,  the  bone-work  of  the  monarchy.  It  must 
be  studied  for  the  internal  administration,  the  financial  system, 
the  domestic  politics,  &c. ;  — just  the  topics  neglected  by  Wat¬ 
son  and  the  like  common,  uncommonplace  writers.  The  his¬ 
torian  of  Philip  the  Second  will  be  largely  indebted  to  Ranke, 
to  his  original  acuteness  and  to  his  erudition.” 

9  Since  published  at  Florence,  under  the  able  editorship  of  the  Cavalier# 
Eugenio  Alb6ri. 


RANKE’S  “SPANISH  EMPIRE.’ 


271 


This  portion  of  Ranke’s  work,  therefore,  became  now  to  Mr. 
Prescott  what  Clemencin’s  dissertation  on  Queen  Isabella  had 
been  in  the  composition  of  his  History  of  the  Catholic  Sover¬ 
eigns.  Indeed,  foreseeing  from  the  outset  how  important  it 
would  be,  and  finding  it  ill  printed  in  the  English  translation, 
he  caused  four  copies  of  the  part  touching  Philip  the  Second 
to  be  struck  off  on  a  large  type,  so  that,  whenever  his  eye 
would  permit  the  indulgence,  be  might  recur  to  it  as  to  his 
manual  and  guide.  It  makes  in  this  form  barely  one  hundred 
and  sixty-eight  pages  in  octavo ;  and  being  printed  on  thick 
paper  and  only  on  one  side  of  each  leaf,  so  as  to  render  every 
letter  perfectly  distinct,  it  was  as  well  fitted  to  its  peculiar  pur 
pose  as  it  could  be.  Probably  he  never  looked  on  it  for  ten 
minutes  together  at  any  one  time  ;  but  we  have  already  no¬ 
ticed  how  thoughtful  and  ingenious  he  was  in  whatever  related 
to  the  means  of  encountering  the  many  obstacles  laid  in  his 
way  by  his  great  infirmity,  and  how  little  he  cared  for  money 
or  ease  when  anything  of  this  sort  was  to  be  accomplished. 
This  reprint  of  Ranke  was,  in  truth,  one  of  his  contrivances 
fox  an  end  that  never  was  long  absent  from  his  thoughts. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


1848-  1850. 


General  Scott’s  Conquest  of  Mexico.  —  Summer  at  Pepperell.  — 
Difficulties  and  Doubts  about  “Philip  the  Second.”  —  Memoirs 

OR  REGULAR  HISTORY.  —  ANXIETY  ABOUT  HIS  HEARING. — .JOURNEY  FOR 

Health.  —  Not  sufficient.  —  Project  for  visiting  England. —  Re¬ 
solves  to  go.  —  Voyage  and  Arrival.  —  London. 


HILE  Mr.  Prescott  was  going  on  with  his  “  Philip  the 


f  t  Second  ”  as  well  as  he  could,  considering  the  slow  pro 
cess  for  work  to  which  he  was  now  reduced,  —  “  dull  sailing,” 
as  he  called  it,  —  he  was  surprised  by  a  tempting  invitation  to 
write  a  history  of  the  Second  Conquest  of  Mexico,  —  the  one, 
I  mean,  achieved  by  General  Winfield  Scott  in  1847.  The 
subject  was  obviously  a  brilliant  one,  making,  in  some  respects, 
a  counterpart  to  the  history  of  the  first  conquest  under  Cortes ; 
and,  as  to  the  bookselling  results  that  would  have  accrued  from 
such  a  work  glowing  with  the  fervent  life  Mr.  Prescott’s  style 
would  have  imparted  to  it,  and  devoted  to  the  favorite  national 
hero  of  the  time,  there  can  be  no  doubt  they  would  have  ex¬ 
ceeded  anything  he  had  ever  before  dreamed  of  as  the  profits 
of  authorship.  But  his  course  in  another  direction  was  plainly 
marked  out,  and  had  long  been  so.  Contemporary  events,  tran¬ 
sient  and  unsettled  interests,  personal  feelings  and  ambitions, 
had  never  entered  into  his  estimates  and  arrangements  for  a 
literary  life.  He  felt  that  he  should  hardly  know  how  to  deal 
with  them.  He  therefore  declined  the  honor,  —  and  an  honor 
it  certainly  was,  —  without  hesitation.  “  The  theme,”  he  said, 
“would  be  taking;  but  I  had  rather  not  meddle  with  heroes 
who  have  not  been  under  ground  two  centuries  at  least.” 1 

1  He  often  expressed  this  feeling.  In  a  letter  to  me  in  1856,  he  says :  “  1 
belong  to  the  sixteenth  century,  and  am  quite  out  of  place  when  I  sleep  else¬ 
where,”  —  a  remark  which  reminds  one  of  old  Bernal  Diaz,  who,  it  has  been 
said,  wore  his  armor  so  long  and  so  constantly  in  the  conquest  of  Mexico 
that  afterwards  he  could  not  sleep  in  comfort  without  it 


PHILIP  THE  SECOND. 


278 


His  weeks  at  Pepperell  in  the  subsequent  autumn  of  1849 
were  agreeable,  as  they  always  were,  but  not  as  fruitful  of 
literary  results  as  they  had  been  in  many  preceding  years. 
“  The  delicious  stillness  of  the  fields,”  he  writes  soon  after  his 
emigration  there  from  Nahant,  “  is  most  grateful  after  the  in¬ 
cessant,  restless  turmoil  of  the  ocean,  whose  melancholy  beat 
makes  no  music  like  the  wind  among  the  boughs  of  the  forest. 
The  sweet  face  of  Nature  is  the  only  face  that  never  grows 
old,  — •  almost  the  only  one  that  we  never  tire  of.” 

But  in  truth  the  trouble  lay  deeper.  He  could  do  little 
work.  His  eyes  were  in  a  very  bad  state,  and  sometimes 
occasioned  him  much  suffering.  He  therefore  was  able  to 
“  Philippize,”  as  he  called  it,  very  little  ;  and  when  he  returned 
to  town  at  the  end  of  October,  he  recorded  that  he  had  had 
“ a  pleasant  villeggiatura”  but  added :  “  The  country  is  now 
dark  with  its  sad  autumnal  splendors.  Is  it  not  my  true 
home  ?  Monadnock  and  his  brotherhood  of  hills  seemed  to 
look  gloomily  on  me  as  I  bade  them  farewell.  What  may 
betide  me  of  weal  or  woe  before  I  see  them  again  ?  ” 

But  this  was  not  a  permanent  state  of  feeling  with  him. 
During  that  autumn  and  winter,  he  went  slowly,  but  with 
much  regularity,  over  the  whole  ground,  which,  as  he  foresaw, 
must  be  occupied  by  a  history  of  Philip  the  Second  and  his 
times,  endeavoring  to  get  a  bird’s-eye  Hew  of  it  in  its  general 
relations  and  proportions  without  descending  to  details.  When 
he  had  done  this,  he  felt  that  the  time  for  a  final  decision  as  to 
the  nature  and  form  which  his  labors  should  take  was  come, 
and  he  made  it  promptly  and  decisively. 

“  I  have,  indeed,”  lie  says,  looking  back  over  the  eighteen  months’ 
deliberation  on  this  subject,  and  considering  at  the  same  time  the  bad  con¬ 
dition  of  his  eyes  and  of  his  general  health,  — -  “  I  have,  indeed,  hardly 
f'elt  courage  to  encounter  the  difficulties  of  a  new  work,  de  longm  haleine, 
in  my  crippled  state.  But  if  I  am  crippled,  I  am  not  wholly  disabled 
yet ;  and  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  take  the  subject  —  the  whole  sub¬ 
ject  —  of  Philip  the  Second.  I  can,  by  a  little  forecast,  manage  so  that  it 
will  cost  me  no  more  labor  or  research  than  a  fraction  of  the  subject, 
which  I  should  treat,  of  course,  more  in  exteraso.  I  must  select  the  most 
important  and  interesting  features  of  the  reign,  and  bring  these,  and  these 
only,  into  as  clear  a  light  as  possible.  All  the  wearisome  research  into 
constitutional,  financial,  ecclesiastical  details,  I  must  discard,  or  at  least  go 
into  them  sparingly ;  —  only  so  as  to  present  a  background  to  the  great 
transactions  of  the  reign. 

12* 


R 


274 


WILLIAM  PICKLING  PEESC0T1. 


“  The  brilliant  passages  are  numerous,  and  must  be  treated,  of  couroe, 
with  reference  to  one  another,  as  well  as  to  their  individual  merit,  so  as  to 
preserve  their  respective  proportions,  and  harmonize  into  one  whole.  A 
dominant  and  central  interest  for  the  mighty  and  richly  varied  panorama 
must  be  ever  kept  in  view.  The  character  of  Philip  will  be  the  dominant 
principle  controlling  every  other  ;  and  his  policy  will  be  the  central  object 
of  interest,  to  which  almost  every  event  in  the  reign  must  be  in  a  great 
degree  referred.  That  policy,  doubtless,  will  be  found  to  be  the  establish¬ 
ment  of  the  Eoman  Catholic  religiou  and  of  absolute  power.  These 
were  the  ends  ever  kept  in  view  by  him,  and  they  must  be  so,  therefore, 
by  his  historian,  as  furnishing  the  true  clew  to  his  complicated  story. 

“  There  will  be  no  lack  of  great  events  of  the  highest  interest  and  the 
most  opposite  character  ;  the  war  with  the  Turks,  and  the  glowing  battle 
of  Lepanto  ;  the  bloody  revolt  of  the  Moriscos ;  the  conquest  of  Portu¬ 
gal,  and,  preceding  it,  the  Quixotic  expedition  of  Don  Sebastian ;  the 
tragic  domestic  story  of' Don  Carlos,  and  the  mysterious  adventures  of 
Antonio  Perez  ;  the  English  invasion,  and  the  gallant  days  of  the 
Armada ;  and  above  all,  and  running  through  all,  the  glorious  war  of 
the  Netherlands,  —  the  war  of  freedom  then  begun  and  not  yet  ended. 

“  As  for  portraits,  great  events  call  forth  great  men,  and  there  is  good 
store  of  them,  —  Don  John  of  Austria,  frank  and  chivalrous  ;  the  great 
Duke  of  Alva,  a  name  of  terror ;  William  of  Orange,  the  Washington 
of  Holland ;  Farnese,  the  greatest  captain  of  his  times  ;  Don  Sebastian, 
the  theme  for  romance  rather  than  history  ;  contemporary  foreign  princes, 
Henry  the  Fourth,  Elizabeth,  &c.,  and  at  home  Charles  the  Fifth  in  his 
latter  days,  of  which  so  little  has  hitherto  been  known ;  and  Philip  the 
Second,  the  master-spirit,  who,  in  the  dark  recesses  of  the  Escorial,  him¬ 
self  unseen  even  by  his  own  subjects,  watches  over  the  lines  of  communi¬ 
cation  which  run  out  in  every  direction  to  the  farthest  quarters  of  the 
globe . 

“  I  propose  to  go  on  with  sober  industry,  —  the  festina  lente  sort,  — 
working  some  four  hours  a  day,  and  if  the  whole  should  run  to  four  vol¬ 
umes,  which  is  enough,  I  may  get  out  two  at  a  time,  allowing  four  years 
for  each  brace.  Da,  Jupiter  annos  !  Put  I  must  mend  my  habits,  or  I 
shall  not  get  out  a  volume  in  as  many  centuries . 

“  I  am  not  sure  that  it  will  not  be  better  for  me  to  call  the  work  Me¬ 
moirs,  instead  of  History,  &c.  This  will  allow  a  more  rambling  style 
of  writing,  and  make  less  demand  on  elaborate  research,  and  so  my  eyes 
and  my  taste  both  be  accommodated.” 

To  these  general  remarks  he  added,  as  he  was  wont  in  such 
cases,  a  synopsis  or  summary  of  the  whole  work  he  was  about 
to  undertake,  —  one  intended  to  suggest  the  different  subjects 
and  points  upon  which  he  should  chiefly  concentrate  his  atten¬ 
tion,  but  not  intended  to  govern  his  treatment  of  the  details. 
It  was  a  sort  of  outline  map,  and  was  made  in  February,  1849. 

But  his  doubts  and  anxieties  at  that  time,  and  for  a  long 
while  afterwards,  were  very  considerable,  both  as  to  the  form 


AT  NAHANT. 


275 


of  his  work,  whether  memoirs  or  history,  and  as  to  the  amount 
of  labor  which  his  advancing  years  and  infirmities  might  war¬ 
rant  him  in  hoping  to  bestow  upon  it.  While  his  mind  contin¬ 
ued  thus  unsettled,  he  talked  with  me  much  on  the  embarrass¬ 
ments  he  felt,  and  I  endeavored  to  strengthen  him  in  a  purpose 
of  taking  up  the  whole  subject  under  the  gravest  forms  of 
regular  history,  and  treating  it  with  absolute  thoroughness  as 
such  ;  anxious  neither  as  to  how  slow  his  progress  might  be, 
nor  how  laborious  it  might  prove. 

One  ground  of  my  judgment  at  that  time2  —  but  unhappily 
one  which  failed  at  last  —  was,  that  I  counted  upon  a  long  life 
for  him,  like  that  of  his  father  and  of  his  mother.  But  I  felt, 
too,  whether  he  lived  many  years,  as  I  fondly  hoped,  or  few, 
that  the  most  active  and  earnest  occupation  of  his  faculties  was 
necessary  to  his  own  happiness,  and  that  he  would  become  dis¬ 
contented  with  himself,  if  he  should  not  fulfil  his  own  idea  of 
what  his  subject  implied  in  its  widest  and  most  serious  requisi¬ 
tions.  I  did  not,  in  short,  believe  that  he  would  be  satisfied  to 
write  Memoirs  of  Philip  the  Second  after  having  written  the 
History  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.  Nor  did  I  believe  that 
scholars  or  the  public  would  be  better  satisfied  than  he  would 
be  himself. 

He  expresses  his  state  of  mind  on  this  subject  in  his  memo¬ 
randa  :  — 

June  28th,  1849.  — At  Nahant,  where  we  arrived  on  the  23d,  after  a 
week  of  tropical  heats  in  town,  that  gave  me  the  dyspepsia.  These  sum¬ 
mer  months  were  once  my  working  months.  But  now,  alas!  all  times 
and  places  are  alike  to  me.  I  have  even  ceased  to  make  good  resolutions, 
—  the  last  infirmity  of  feeble  minds.  Since  last  summer,  what  have  I 
done  1  My  real  apology  for  doing  nothing  is  still  my  health,  which 
hedges  me  round,  whichever  way  I  attempt  to  go.  Without  eyes  I  can¬ 
not  read.  Yet  I  constantly  try  to  do  something,  and  as  constantly  strain 
the  nerve.  An  organic  trouble  causes  me  pain,  if  I  sit  and  write  half  an 
hour,  so  that  I  am  baffled  and  disheartened,  and  I  find  it  impossible  (shall 
I  say  the  coward’s  word  ? )  to  get  up  a  lively  interest,  —  the  interest  I  felt 
in  happier  days  in  my  historical  labors. 

Yet  I  am  determined  to  make  one  serious  trial  before  relinquishing  the 

a  This  was  in  1849.  He  did  not  determine  to  write  a  history  rather  than 
memoirs,  until  he  came  to  the  troubles  in  the  Netherlands,  in  October,  1861. 
And  the  change  of  purpose  is  to  be  noted  after  page  360  of  the  first  volume 
of  the  American  edition. 


27G 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


glorious  field,  on  which  I  have  won  some  laurels,  and  on  which  I  had 
promised  myself  a  long  career.  I  will  make  up  my  mind  to  dispense 
with  my  eyes  nearly  all  the  time.  I  will  dictate,  if  I  cannot  write.  I 
will  secure  three  hours  every  day  for  my  work,  and,  with  patience,  I  may 
yet  do  something.3 

I  will  not  seek  to  give  that  minute  and  elaborate  view  of  the  political 
and  economical  resources  of  the  country  which  I  attempted  in  “  Ferdi¬ 
nand  and  Isabella,”  and  for  which  I  have  such  rich  materials  for  this 
reign.  But  I  must  content  myself  with  a  more  desultory  or  a  pictu¬ 
resque  view  of  things,  developing  character  as  much  as  possible,  illustrat¬ 
ing  it  by  the  anecdote,  and  presenting  the  general  features  of  the  time  and 
the  court.  The  work  in  this  way,  though  not  profound,  may  be  amusing, 
and  display  that  philosophy  which  consists  in  the  development  of  human 
passion  and  character. 

Great  events,  told  with  simplicity,  will  interest  the  reader,  and  the 
basis  on  which  the  narrative  throughout  will  rest  will  be  of  the  most  au¬ 
thentic  kind,  enabling  me  to  present  facts  hitherto  unknown,  and,  of 
course,  views  and  deductions  not  familiar  to  the  student  of  history.  The 
book  will  lose  much  of  its  value  compared  with  what  it  might  have  had 
under  happier  auspices  ;  but  enough  may  remain  to  compensate  both  the 
reader  aud  myself  for  the  time  bestowed  on  it.  But,  then,  I  must  proceed 
on  the  right  principle ;  content  with  accomplisliitig  what  the  embarrass¬ 
ments  of  my  situation  will  permit  me  to  accomplish,  without  aiming  at 
what,  by  its  difficulties,  would  disgust  me  in  its  progress,  and  by  its  fail 
ure  iu  the  end  bring  only  mortification  and  chagrin.  I  will  try. 

The  conditions  were  hard,  and  the  first  efforts  he  made  to 
break  ground  were  anything  but  cheerful  or  encouraging ;  for 
his  eyes  were  in  a  very  bad  state,  and  he  was  otherwise  not  a 
little  disordered.  After  an  experiment  of  nearly  a  month,  he 
says :  — 

Looked  over  various  works  for  an  introductory  chapter.  Worked  about 
three  hours  per  diem,  of  which  with  my  own  eyes  (grown  very  dim, — alas  ! 
perceptible  in  this  strong  light)  about  thirty  minutes  a  day.  I  can  man¬ 
age  with  this  to  make  progress  on  a  less  searching  plan  of  study.  Am 
now  prepared  to  think.  But  after  this  long  repose,  the  business  of  fixing 
thought  is  incredibly  difficult.  It  must  be  done. 

And  it  was  done.  On  the  29th  of  July,  1849,  at  Nahant,  he 
records  :  “  Last  Thursday  (July  26th),  at  6  P.  M.,  began  the 
composition  of  Chapter  First  of  ‘  Philip  the  Second,’  whether 
memoirs  or  history  time  will  show.  Heavy  work  this  starting. 
I  have  been  out  of  harness  too  long.” 

*  He  did  not,  in  fact,  succeed  in  getting  so  much  work  as  this  out  of  him 
self  in  the  summer  and  autumn  of  1849. 


FEARS  LOSS  OF  HEARING. 


277 


At  Pepperell,  where  he  went  with  his  accustomed  eagerness 
on  the  6th  of  September,  his  eyes  were  rather  worse  than  they 
had  been  at  Nahant,  and  he  was  more  troubled  with  dyspepsia 
and  his  other  chronic  ailments.  But  he  worked,  against  wind 
and  tide,  as  earnestly,  if  not  as  hopefully,  as  if  both  had  been 
in  his  favor. 

On  his  return  to  town,  about  the  end  of  October,  he  talked 
with  me  afresh  concerning  his  plans  in  relation  to  “  Philip  the 
Second,”  of  which  he  had  been  able  to  complete  only  two 
chapters.  On  the  whole,  he  was  confirmed  in  his  decision 
that  he  would  take  the  entire  reign  of  that  monarch  for  his 
subject,  and  not  any  episode  of  it,  however  brilliant,  like  the 
war  with  the  Turks,  or  the  siege  of  Malta,  or  however  im¬ 
portant,  like  the  grand  tragedy  of  the  contest  with  the  Nether¬ 
lands.  But  he  did  not  feel  strong  enough  to  make  more  of  it 
than  memoirs,  as  distinguished  from  history.  On  the  first 
point,  I  concurred  with  him  entirely ;  on  the  last,  I  regretted 
his  decision,  but  submitted  to  it,  if  not  as  to  something  inevi¬ 
table,  at  least  as  to  a  result  concerning  which  his  health  and 
years  afforded  grounds,  of  which  he  was  to  judge  rather  than 
anybody  else. 

His  decision,  however,  which  seemed  then  to  be  final,  had 
one  good  effect  immediately.  He  worked  more  freely,  and 
for  a  time  made  a  degree  of  progress  that  satisfied  himself. 
But  about  Christmas  his  strength  began  to  fail.  He  lost  flesh 
visibly,  and  his  friends,  though  they  certainly  did  not  look  on 
the  state  of  his  health  with  anxiety,  yet  felt  that  more  than 
ordinary  care  had  become  necessary.  He  himself  did  not 
share  their  feelings  ;  but  he  had  other  doubts  and  misgivings 
more  disheartening  than  theirs.  In  February,  1850,  he  said  : 
“  Increasing  interest  in  the  work  is  hardly  to  be  expected,  con¬ 
sidering  it  has  to  depend  so  much  on  the  ear.  As  I  shall  have 
to  depend  more  and  more  on  this  one  of  my  senses,  as  I  grow 
older,  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  Providence  will  spare  me  my  hear¬ 
ing.  It  would  be  a  fearful  thing  to  doubt  it.” 

Happily  he  was  never  called  to  encounter  this  terrible  trial. 
Not  infrequently,  indeed,  a  suspicion  occurred  to  him,  espe¬ 
cially  about  this  period,  that  the  acuteness  of  his  hearing  was 
impaired,  as,  in  truth,  I  think  it  was,  but  in  so  small  a  degree, 


278 


WILLIAM  RICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


that  he  was  rarely  admonished  of  it,  even  by  his  own  fears, 
and  certainly  never  so  much  as  to  interfere  with  the  course 
which  his  studies  necessarily  took.  But  whenever  the  thought 
came  to  him  of  what  might  possibly  be  the  result  in  this  re¬ 
spect,  darkness  seemed  to  settle  on  his  thoughts ;  and,  although 
his  elastic  spirits  soon  obtained  the  mastery,  it  was  not  until 
after  a  struggle  such  as  they  had  not  heretofore  been  sum 
moned  to  make.  A  few  of  my  conversations  with  him  on  this 
subject  were  among  the  most  painful  that  I  remember  ever  to 
have  had.  But  the  most  painful  of  them  were  later,  in  the  last 
two  years  of  his  life. 

In  the  early  spring  of  1850,  finding  that  he  was  less  able 
to  work  than  he  had  previously  been,  and  that  he  could  not 
command  his  thoughts  for  the  concentrated  efforts  he  had 
always  found  important  to  success,  he  made  a  journey  south¬ 
ward,  to  anticipate  the  milder  season.  He  was  accompanied 
by  his  daughter,  by  Mrs.  Charles  Amory,  by  Mrs.  Howland 
Shaw,  and  by  his  brother-in-law,  Mr.  William  Amory,  —  a 
party  as  agreeable  as  affection  and  friendship  could  have  col¬ 
lected  for  him.  I  chanced  to  be  in  Washington  when  he  ar¬ 
rived  there,  and  was  witness  to  the  pleasure  with  which  he  was 
everywhere  received.  All  sorts  of  hospitalities  were  offered  to 
him  by  General  Taylor,  then  President  of  the  United  States  ; 
by  the  Calderons,  his  old  and  faithful  friends ;  by  the  British 
Minister,  Sir  Henry  Bulwer ;  by  our  own  great  New-England 
statesman,  Mr.  Webster,  who  had  always  entertained  the  sin- 
cerest  veneration  for  the  elder  Mr.  Prescott,  and  always  wel¬ 
comed  the  son  as  worthy  of  his  ancestry ;  in  short,  he  was 
received  by  whatever  was  eminent  in  the  diplomatic  society 
of  Washington,  or  among  those  collected  there  to  administer 
our  own  affairs,  with  a  distinction  not  to  be  mistaken  or  misin¬ 
terpreted.  His  friends  sought  eagerly  to  enjoy  as  much  of  his 
society  as  he  could  give  them,  and  strangers  gladly  seized  the 
opportunity  to  know  personally  one  with  whom  in  so  many 
other  ways  they  uTere  already  familiar.  But  he  was  little  in  a 
condition  to  accept  the  kindness  which  under  different  circum¬ 
stances  would  have  been  so  pleasant  to  him.  He  was  not  well. 
He  was  not  happy.  He  felt  that  he  needed  the  comforts  and 
the  solace  to  which  he  was  accustomed  at  home.  He  remained 


EMBARKS  FOR  ENGLAND. 


279 


in  Washington,  therefore,  only  a  short  time,  and  then  returned 
to  Boston. 

The  comforts  of  home,  however,  were  not  all  that  he  needed. 
He  needed  a  change  of  life  for  a  time,  —  something  that  should, 
as  it  were,  renew,  or  at  least  refresh  and  strengthen  the  re¬ 
sources  of  a  constitution  which  had  so  long  been  touched  with 
infirmities,  not  of  the  gravest  sort,  indeed,  but  yet  constantly  so 
pressing  on  the  springs  of  life,  and  so  exhausting  their  elas¬ 
ticity,  that  neither  his  physical  nor  his  mental  system  was  any 
longer  capable  of  the  severe  efforts  which  he  had  always  claimed 
from  them,  and  almost  always  with  success. 

After  some  time,  therefore,  the  project  of  visiting  England, 
which  he  had  partly  entertained  at  different  times  for  many 
years,  but  had  constantly  rejected,  recurred  with  new  force. 
His  friends,  who  had  heretofore  urged  it  on  the  ground  of  the 
personal  enjoyment  he  could  not  fail  to  derive  from  such  a 
visit,  now  urged  it  on  the  stronger  ground  of  health,  and  of 
the  sort  of  renovation  which  so  great  a  change  of  climate  and 
of  his  modes  of  life  and  thought  often  give  to  the  whole  moral 
and  physical  constitution  at  the  age  which  he  had  now  reached. 
He  acknowledged  the  force  of  what  they  pressed  upon  him,  but 
still  he  hesitated.  His  domestic  life  was  so  wisely  regulated ; 
everything  about  him  was  so  carefully  adjusted  and  adapted, 
by  the  watchfulness  of  affection,  to  his  peculiar  infirmities,  and 
the  wants  they  entailed  on  him  ;  in  short,  his  condition  in  his 
own  home,  and  with  his  daily  occupations,  was  so  entirely  such 
as  demanded  only  gratitude  to  God,  that  he  naturally  felt  un¬ 
willing  to  interrupt  its  long-settled,  even,  and  happy  course. 
But  the  strong  hours  conquered,  as  they  always  must  in  what 
regards  health  and  life.  The  reasons  for  a  European  excur¬ 
sion  grew  every  week  more  distinct  and  decisive,  and  at  last 
he  yielded. 

He  embarked  from  New  York  the  22d  day  of  May,  1850. 
On  board  the  steam-packet  in  which  he  took  passage  he  found, 
as  he  did  everywhere,  the  kindness  that  was  drawn  out  by  the 
magnetism  of  his  own  affectionate  nature,  and  by  his  obvious 
infirmities,  added  to  the  strong  interest  he  had  excited  as  an 
author.  He  was  at  once  provided  with  readers  for  all  the 
hours  when  he  was  well  enough  to  listen,  and  among  them 


280 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


were  some  members  of  the  Middleton  family  of  South  Carolina, 
who  were  connections  of  Iris  old  classmate,  and  who  became  at 
once  not  only  interesting  and  agreeable  companions,  but  per¬ 
sonal  friends.  Notwithstanding,  therefore,  the  usual  tribute  of 
sea-sickness,  which  he  paid  like  others,  and  complained  of  as 
bitterly,  his  passage  was  far  from  being  disagreeable. 

Just  so  it  was  when,  at  midnight,  on  Monday,  the  3d  of 
June,  the  vessel  on  which  he  was  embarked  arrived  in  the 
Mersey,  at  Liverpool.  The  first  voice  he  heard  through  the 
darkness,  from  a  boat  which  came  alongside  five  minutes  after 
the  steamer’s  anchor  had  been  dropped,  was  that  of  an  English 
friend  whose  face  he  had  not  seen  for  three  and  thirty  years, 
but  whose  regard  had  survived  unimpaired  from  the  days  when 
they  had  been  together  almost  as  boys  in  Italy.  At  the  house 
of  that  friend,  Mr.  Alexander  Smith,  he  found  at  once  an  affec¬ 
tionate  reception,  and  remained  there  hospitably  entertained 
until  two  days  later,  when  he  hurried  up  to  London. 

“  On  Wednesday,  June  5th,”  lie  says  in  his  second  letter  to  Mrs.  Pres¬ 
cott,  “  I  came  by  railway  to  <  London  town,’  through  the  English  garden, 
lawns  of  emerald  green,  winding  streams,  light  arched  bridges,  long  lines 
stretching  out  of  sight  between  hedges  of  hawthorn,  —  all  flowering,  — 
rustic  cottages,  lordly  mansions,  and  sweeping  woods ;  flocks  of  sheep, 
and  now  and  then  peasants  shearing  off  the  fat  fleeces  ;  cattle  of  the 
Durham  breed,  but  all  more  or  less  white,  often  wholly  so,  —  white  as 
snow  ;  the  whole  landscape  a  miracle  of  beauty,  all  of  the  cultivated  sort, 
too  tame  on  the  whole  ;  and  before  I  reached  the  great  leviathan,  I  would 
have  given  something  to  see  a  ragged  fence,  or  an  old  stump,  or  a  bit  of 
rock,  or  even  a  stone  as  big  as  one’s  fist,  to  show  that  man’s  hand  had  not 
been  combing  Nature’s  head  so  vigorously.  I  felt  I  was  not  in  my  own 
dear,  wild  America.” 

London  hospitality  had  met  him  at  Liverpool.  Lady  Lyell, 
to  whom,  like  everybody  else  who  was  permitted  to  become 
really  acquainted  with  her  during  her  visits  to  the  United 
States,  he  was  already  much  attached,  had  sent  him  charming 
words  of  welcome,  which  he  received  as  he  stepped  on  shore  in 
the  night.4  JMr.  Lawrence,  too,  his  friend  and  kinsman,  then 


4  I  add  the  answer  to  Lady  Lyell’s  kind  note,  welcoming  him  to  England. 


TO  LADY  LYELL. 


Liverpool,  June  4, 1860. 


My  dear  Lady  Lyell, 

I  have  just  received  your  kind  note,  in  the  midst  of  trunks,  luggage  (you 


FIRST  EVENING  IN  LONDON. 


281 


American  Minister  at  the  Court  of  St.  James,  had  begged  him 
in  the  same  way  to  be  in  season  for  a  large  diplomatic  dinner 
which  he  was  to  give  on  the  evening  that  Mr.  Prescott  would 
naturally  reach  London.  Others  had,  in  other  ways,  sent  salu¬ 
tations  both  courteous  and  cordial.  It  was  all  very  flattering 
and  kindly,  and,  accompanied  as  he  was  by  his  faithful  and 
intelligent  secretary,  Mr.  Kirk,  he  did  not,  from  the  moment 
of  his  landing,  feel  for  an  instant  that  he  was  either  alone  or 
upon  a  stranger  soil. 

On  reaching  London,  he  drove  at  once  to  Mivart’s  Hotel, 
where  lodgings  had  been  engaged  for  him  ;  but  he  had  hardly 
alighted  when  Sir  Charles  Lyell  entered  and  gave  him  his  first 
London  greeting,  which  he  loved  always  afterwards  to  remem¬ 
ber  for  its  affectionate  warmth.  The  dinner  at  Mr.  Lawrence’s 
he  had  declined,  being  too  fresh  from  a  long  journey  to  enjoy 
it ;  but  he  took  tea  a  little  later  with  Lady  Lyell,  and  went 
with  her  to  the  evening  party  at  the  Minister’s,  which  followed 
the  more  serious  dinner,  and  was,  in  fact,  a  part  of  it.  His 
introduction  to  much  of  what  was  most  distinguished  in  Eng¬ 
lish  society,  including  Lord  Palmerston  and  several  others  of 
the  Ministers,  could  hardly  have  been  more  agreeable  or  more 
graceful. 

It  was  on  this  occasion  that  he  first  saw  the  Milmans,  with 
whom  he  had  long  felt  acquainted,  and  to  whom  he  soon  be¬ 
came  personally  much  attached.  It  was  then,  too,  that  he  first 
saw  the  venerable  mother  of  his  friend  Lord  Carlisle,  and 
many  other  persons  of  distinction,  his  meeting  with  whom  he 
often  afterwards  recalled  with  peculiar  pleasure.  But  that  with 
Lord  Carlisle  went  to  his  heart,  and  well  it  might,  for  it  was 
warmer  than  he  intimates  it  to  have  been,  even  in  a  letter  to 

Bee  my  Yankee  breeding),  and  all  the  other  custom-house  trumpery  from 
which  it  is  so  difficult  a  matter,  after  a  voyage,  to  disentangle  one’s  self.  I 
am  passing  a  day  here  with  an  old  friend,  and  to-morrow  shall  take  the  eleven 
o'clock  train  for  London.  Many  thanks  for  your  agreeable  invitation,  which 
I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  answering  in  person  to-morrow  evening.  I  have 
declined  an  invitation  to  dine  with  our  Minister,  as  I  shall  not  be  in  condition 
to  dine,  so  soon  after  my  journey,  with  an  array  of  Ministers  and  Ministers’ 
ladies.  But  I  shall  be  in  first-rate  condition  for  seeing  friends  whom  I  value 
so  much  as  you  and  your  husband. 

Pray  remember  me  warmly  to  him,  and  believe  me,  my  dear  Lady 
Lyell,  &c. 


282 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


Mrs.  Prescott,  in  which  he  says,  that  it  made  him  “  feel  aa 
awkward  as  a  young  girl.”  A  person  who  was  present  said 
that  Lord  Carlisle  almost  embraced  him.  But  he  remained  at 
this  first  London  party  only  a  little  while.  He  was  too  tired 
after  his  journey. 

From  this  moment  his  table  was  covered  with  cards  and 
invitations.  His  preference  and  pleasure  were  undoubtedly  for 
the  more  cultivated  and  intellectual  society  which  received  him 
on  all  sides  with  earnest  cordiality ;  but  he  was  also  the  fash¬ 
ion.  He  was  invited  everywhere.  He  was  the  lion  of  the 
season.6 

His  own  letters  to  his  family,  and  his  more  intimate  friends, 
will  show  this  in  the  simplest  and  pleasantest  manner. 


TO  MBS.  PRESCOTT. 

London,  Tuesday,  June  11,  1850. 

Dearest  Susan, 

I  returned  last  evening  from  a  visit  to  the  Horners,  Lady  Lyell’s 
parents  and  sisters,  a  very  accomplished  and  happy  family-circle.  They 
occupy  a  small  house,  with  a  pretty  lawn  stretching  between  it  and  the 
Thames,  that  forms  a  silver  edging  to  the  close-shaven  green.  The  family 
gather  under  the  old  trees,  on  the  little  shady  carpet,  which  is  sweet  with 
the  perfumes  of  flowering  shrubs,  and  you  see  sails  gliding  by  and  stately 
swans  of  which  there  are  several  hundreds  on  the  river.  Any  injury  to 
these  birds  is  visited  with  a  heavy  penalty.  The  next  day,  Sunday,  after 
dinner,  —  which  we  took  at  four,  —  we  strolled  through  Hampton  Court 
and  its  royal  park.  The  entrance  to  the  park  is  not  more  than  half  a 
mile  from  Mr.  H.’s  house.  We  spent  a  couple  of  hours  in  rambling  over 
it,  —  a  most  superb  green  lawn  stretching  in  all  directions,  covered  with 
avenues  of  stately  trees  planted  in  the  time  of  William  and  Mary,  mostly 
the  English  elm.  Troops  of  deer  were  standing  and  lying  idly  round, 
and  every  now  and  then  we  started  a  hare.  Whole  companies  of  rooks 
—  a  bird  seen  everywhere  here  —  sailed  over  the  tops  of  the  trees,  —  such 

6  The  Nepaulese  Princes  were  in  London  that  year,  and  were  much  stared 
at  for  their  striking  costumes  and  magnificent  diamonds.  Alluding  to  this 
circumstance,  Mr.  Lockhart,  the  first  time  he  met  Mr.  Prescott,  said,  play¬ 
fully,  but  not  without  a  touch  of  the  cynical  spirit  always  in  him,  that  “  he 
was  happy  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Prescott,  who,  as  he  had  heard, 
was  the  great  lion  of  London,  —  he  and  the  Nepaulese  Princes.”  “  You 
forget  the  hippopotamus!”  retorted  Mr.  Prescott.  It  was  not,  perhaps,  the 
most  auspicious  and  agreeable  beginning  of  an  acquaintance,  but  it  did  not 
prevent  them  from  being  a  good  deal  together  afterwards,  and  liking  each 
other  much.  A  parting  dinner  with  Ford  and  Stirling  at  Lockhart’s  wai 
always  remembered  by  Mr.  Prescott  as  peculiarly  gay  and  gratifying. 


LETTER  TO  MRS.  PRESCOTT. 


283 


trees !  In  front  of  the  old  palace  were  broad  red  gravel  walks  through 
the  green  turf,  with  artificial  basins  of  water.  In  short,  the  real  scene 
looked  like  the  picture  in  our  camera  at  Pepperell.  Here  was  the  favorite 
residence  of  William  and  Marv,  and  of  their  predecessor,  the  merry 
Charles  the  Second,  whose  beauties,  by  the  hands  of  Sir  Peter  Lely,  still 
decorate  the  walls.  I  fancied,  as  I  strolled  through  the  grounds,  I  could 
see  the  gallant  prince  and  his  suite  sauntering  among  the  lordly  avenues, 
playing  with  his  spaniels  and  tossing  crumbs  to  the  swans  in  the  waters. 
We  walked  home  at  twilight,  hearing  the  nightingale  at  his  evening  song, 
and  the  distant  cuckoo,  sounding  so  like  the  little  toy  the  children  play 
with ! 

The  next  day  we  had  our  picnic  at  Box-Hill,  —  a  sweet,  romantic  spot 
in  Surrey,  on  a  high  hill,  looking  over  half  the  country,  and  fragrant  with 
the  odors  of  the  box,  which  rises  here  into  trees.  There  was  a  collection 
of  seven  and  twenty  persons  in  all,  friends  of  the  family.  So  we  spread 
our  cloth  in  a  shady  spot,  and  produced  our  stores  of  good  things,  and 
with  the  aid  of  a  little  of  the  spiritual  with  the  material,  we  had  a  merry 

time  of  it.  T - A - will  tell  you  all  about  it,  as  he  returns  by  the 

next  steamer;  so  he  intends,  at  least,  at  the  present  moment.  The 

P - s  return  by  it  also.  To  think  that  I  should  have  missed  them  ! 

William  was  at  just  such  a  picnic  last  year,  and  I  heard  many  kind  things 
of  him.  He  made  some  good  friends  here,  and  left  everywhere,  I  believe, 
a  good  impression.  I  have  written  to  our  Minister  at  Madrid  to  look  him 
up,  for  I  have  not  yet  heard  from  him.  Unlucky  enough  !  but  I  think  he 
must  soon  turn  up.9 


Friday  noon. 

I  have  so  many  things  to  tell  you  of  since  my  last  date,  and  so  little 
time  to  do  it  in,  dear  Susan,  that  I  don’t  know  which  to  take,  —  the 
Ascot  races,  dinner  at  Sir  Robert  Peel’s,  —  or  I  will  begin  (probably  end) 

with  the  visit  to  Lady  S - s,  which  I  was  about  to  make  when  I  left  off. 

I  went  at  eleven,  and  found  myself  in  the  midst  of  a  brilliant  saloon,  filled 
with  people,  amongst  whom  I  could  not  recognize  one  familiar  face.  You 
may  go  to  ten  parties  in  London,  be  introduced  to  a  score  of  persons  in 
each,  and  in  going  to  the  eleventh  party  not  see  a  face  that  you  have  ever 
seen  before  ;  so  large  is  the  society  of  the  Great  Metropolis  !  I  was  soon 
put  at  my  ease,  however,  by  the  cordial  reception  of  Lord  and  Lady 
C - ,  who  presented  me  to  a  number  of  persons. 

In  the  crowd  I  saw  an  old  gentleman,  very  nicely  made  up,  stooping  a 
good  deal,  very  much  decorated  with  orders,  and  making  his  way  easily 
along,  as  all,  young  and  old,  seemed  to  treat  him  with  deference.  It  was 
the  Duke,  —  the  old  Iron  Duke,  —  and  I  thought  myself  lucky  in  this 

opportunity  of  seeing  him.  Lord  C - asked  me  if  I  would  like  to 

know  him,  and  immediately  presented  me  to  him.  He  paid  me  some 
pretty  compliments,  on  which  I  grew  vain  at  once,  and  I  did  my  best  to 

*  The  reference  is  to  Mr.  Prescott’s  eldest  son,  who  had  been  some  time  in 
Europe,  but  with  whom  Mr.  Prescott  had  found  it  difficult  to  come  into  com¬ 
munication  at  this  time.  The  son  did  not  yet  know  that  his  father  had 
thought  of  leaving  America,  and  he  was,  in  fact,  now  in  Africa. 


284 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


repay  him  in  coin  that  had  no  counterfeit  in  it.  He  is  a  striking  figure, 
reminding  me  a  good  deal  of  Colonel  Perkins  in  his  general  air,7  though 
his  countenance  is  fresher.  His  aquiline  nose  is  strongly  cut,  as  in  earlier 
days,  when  I  saw  him  at  the  head  of  his  troops  in  Paris,  and  his  large 
forehead  has  but  few  wrinkles.  He  does  not  show  the  wear  and  tear  of 
time  and  thought,  and  his  benevolent  expression  has  all  the  iron  worked 
out  of  it.  He  likes  the  attention  he  receives  in  this  social  way,  spending 
half  an  hour  in  working  his  way  quietly  through  the  rooms,  and,  having 
received  the  general  homage,  disappears.  He  wore  round  his  neck  the 
ribbons  and  ornaments  of  the  Golden  Pleece,  and  on  his  coat  the  diamond- 
star  of  the  Order  of  the  Garter.  He  is  in  truth  the  lion  of  England,  not 
to  say  of  Europe,  and  I  could  not  take  my  eyes  off  him  while  he  re¬ 
mained. 

We  had  a  stately  dinner  at  Sir  Robert’s,  —  four  and  twenty  guests. 
He  received  us  in  a*  long  picture-gallery.  The  windows  of  the  gallery  at 
one  end  look  out  on  the  Thames,  its  beautiful  stone  bridges  with  lofty 
arches,  Westminster  Abbey  with  its  towers,  and  the  living  panorama  on 
the  water.  The  opposite  windows  look  on  the  Green  Gardens  behind  the 
palace  of  Whitehall,  —  gardens  laid  out  by  Cardinal  Wolsey,  and  near 
the  spot  where  Charles  the  Eirst  lived  and  lost  his  life  on  the  scaffold. 
The  gallery  is  full  of  masterpieces,  especially  Dutch  and  Flemish,  — 
among  them  the  famous  Chapeau  de  Paille,  which  cost  Sir  Robert  over  five 
thousand  pounds,  or  twenty-two  thousand  dollars.  In  his  dining-room  are 
also  superb  pictures,  —  the  famous  one  by  Wilkie,  of  John  Knox  preach¬ 
ing,  which  did  not  come  up  to  the  idea  I  had  formed  from  the  excellent 
engraving  of  it;  and  Waagen,  the  German  critic,  who  was  there,  told  me, 
asl  sakAhis  to  him,  that  I  was  perfectly  correct  in  the  judgment.  So  I 
find  I  am  a  connoisseur!  There  was  a  portrait  of  Dr.  Johnson,  by  Rey¬ 
nolds,  —  the  portrait  owned  by  Mrs.  Thrale,  and  engraved  for  the  Diction¬ 
ary.  What  a  bijou  ! 

We  sat  at  dinner,  looking  out  on  the  moving  Thames.  We  dined  at 
eight,  but  the  twilight  lingers  here  till  half  past  nine  o’clock  at  this  season. 
Sir  Robert  was  exceedingly  courteous  to  his  guests  ;  told  some  good 
stories,  at  which  some  laughed  immoderately ;  showed  us  his  pictures,  his 
collection  of  autographs,  &c.  He  has  the  celebrated  letter,  written  by 
Nelson,  in  which  he  says,  “  If  I  die,  frigate  will  be  found  written  on  my 
heart.”  8 

7  The  resemblance  to  the  Duke  of  Wellington  of  the  late  Colonel  Thomas 
H.  Perkins,  already  referred  to  as  a  munificent  merchant  of  Boston,  was  often 
noticed  and  very  obvious. 

8  An  anecdote  of  this  dinner,  connected  with  an  account  of  another,  is 
happily  given  by  Mr.  Stirling,  in  a  little  memoir  of  Mr.  Prescott,  which  was 
originally  published  in  “  Fraser’s  Magazine,”  for  March,  1859,  and  was  sub¬ 
sequently  printed  privately,  with  additions. 

“Amongst  the  many  occasions  when  it  was  the  good  fortune  of  the  author 
af  this  sketch  to  meet  Mr.  Prescott,  there  is  one  which  has  especially  stamped 
itself  on  his  memory.  It  was  on  a  delightful  summer  day,  at  a  dinner  given  at 
the  4  Trafalgar,’  at  Greenwich,  by  Mr.  Murray,  of  Albemarle  Street.  Of 
that  small  and  well-chosen  circle,  the  brightest  lights  are,  alas!  already 


LETTER  TO  MRS.  PRESCOTT. 


285 


Is  not  this  a  fine  life  ?  I  am  most  sincerely  tired  of  it.  Not  that  I  do 
not  enjoy  the  social  meetings,  and  there  are  abundant  objects  of  interest. 
But  I  am  weary  of  the  dissipation,  and  would  not  exchange  my  regular 
domestic  and  literary  occupations  in  the  good  old  Puritan  town  for  thir 
round  of  heedless,  headless  gavety,  —  not  if  I  had  the  fortune  of  the 
Marquis  of  Westminster,  the  richest  peer  in  England.  It  is  hard  work  to 
make  a  life  of  pleasure.  Wherever  you  go,  you  see  wealth,  splendor,  and 
fashion,  —  horses,  carriages,  houses,  all  brilliant  and  gorgeous  ;  —  hut 
nothing  like  repose,  and  not  always  good  taste.  All  seem  to  be  eagerly 
pursuing  the  goddess  Pleasure,  —  hard  to  be  caught,  and  vanishing  in  the 
grasp.  If  I  could  bring  it  with  a  wish,  August  15th  would  be  here  iu 

quenched.  The  festive  humor  of  Ford  will  no  more  enliven  the  scene  he 
loved  so  well;  nor  will  the  wit  of  Lockhart  and  the  wisdom  of  Hallam  ever 
more  brighten  or  adorn  banquets  like  that  at  which  they  met  their  fellow- 
laborer  from  the  New  World.  Everything  was  iu  perfection.  —  the  weather, 
the  preliminary  stroll  beneath  the  great  chestnut -trees  in  Greenwich  Park, 
the  cool  upper  room  with  its  balcony  overhanging  the  river,  the  dinner,  from 
the  prefatory  water-souchy  to  the  ultimate  devilled  white-bait,  the  assort¬ 
ment,  spirits,  and  conversation  of  the  guests.  On  our  return  to  town  in  the 
cool  of  the  summer  night,  it  was  the  good  fortune  of  the  present  writer  to  sit 
beside  Mr.  Prescott,  on  the  box  of  the  omnibus  which  Mr.  Murray  had 
chartered  for  his  party.  It  was  there  that  the  historian  related  to  him  the 
fortunes  of  his  first  historical  work,  as  told  above.  He  likewise  described 
with  great  zest  a  more  recent  incident  of  his  life.  Some  days  before  that,  he 
had  dined  with  the  late  Sir  Robert  Peel.  With  the  punctuality  which  was 
very  noticeable  amidst  all  the  bustle  of  Mr.  Prescott’s  endless  London  en¬ 
gagements,  he  was  in  Whitehall  gardens  at  the  precise  moment  indicated  on 
the  card  of  invitation.  It  followed,  as  a  natural  result,  that  he  was  for  some 
minutes  the  sole  occupant  of  the  drawing-room.  In  due  time,  Sir  Robert 
walked  in,  very  bland  and  a  little  formal,  somewhat  more  portly  than  he  ap¬ 
peared  on  the  canvas  of  Lawrence,  somewhat  less  rotund  than  he  was  wont 
to  be  figured  in  the  columns  of  Punch.  Although  not  personally  known  to 
his  host,  Mr.  Prescott  took  for  granted  that  his  name  had  been  announced. 
It  was  to  his  great  surprise,  therefore,  that  he  found  himself  addressed  in 
French.  He  replied  in  the  same  language,  inly  musing  whether  he  had  been 
mistaken  for  somebody  else,  or  whether  to  speak  French  to  all  persons  from 
beyond  the  sea  was  the  etiquette  of  British  statesmanship,  or  the  private  pre¬ 
dilection  of  Peel.  After  some  introductory  topics  had  been  got  over,  he  was 
still  further  mystified  by  finding  the  dialogue  turned  towards  the  drama,  and 
being  complimented  on  his  great  success  in  that  unfamiliar  walk  of  letters. 
The  astonished  historian  was  making  the  reply  which  his  native  modesty  die 
tated,  when  a  second  guest,  a  friend  of  his  own,  entered,  and  addressed  both  of 
them  in  English.  Mr.  Prescott  had  been  mistaken  for  M.  Scribe,  —  a  blunder 
ludicrous  enough  to  those  who  know  the  contrast  that  existed  between  the 
handsome  person  of  the  historian,  and  the  undistinguished  appearance  of  the 
most  prolific  of  modern  playwrights.  By  a  curious  chance,  M.  Scribe  did 
not  arrive  until  a  large  party  of  political  and  literary  celebrities  were  seated 
at  dinner,  and  Mr.  Prescott  concluded  his  story  by  remarking  on  the  graceful 
kindness  with  which  Sir  Robert  hastened  to  meet  him  at  the  door,  and 
smoothed  the  foreigner’s  way  to  a  place  amongst  strangers.” 


286 


WILLIAM  HICKL1NG  PRESCOTT. 


less  than  no  time,0  —  and  then,  Ho  for  Yankee-land  !  Mr.  Rogers  has 
just  sent  me  a  message  to  say,  that  he  must  at  least  shake  hands  with  me. 
How  kind  is  this  !  although  his  house  is  crowded  with  visitors,  he  sees  nc 
one  but  his  physicians. 

Remember  me  kindly  to  George  and  Anna,  and  to  any  other  friends. 
Kiss  mother  and  Lizzie,  and  believe  me,  dearest, 

Your  loving  husband, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 

TO  MISS  PRESCOTT. 

London,  June  14, 1S60. 

My  dear  Lizzie, 

As  your  mother  tells  me  that  you  are  to  write  me  this  week,  I  will  do 
the  same  good  turn  to  you.  What  shall  I  tell  you  about  t  There  are  so 
many  things  that  would  interest  you  in  this  wonderful  city.  But  first  of 
all,  I  think  on  reflection,  you  judged  wisely  in  not  coming.  You  would 
have  had  some  lonely  hours,  and  have  been  often  rather  awkwardly 
situated.  Girls  of  your  age  make  no  great  figure  here  in  society.  One 
never,  or  very  rarely,  meets  them  at  dinner-parties,  —  and  they  are  not  so 
numerous  in  the  evening  parties  as  with  us,  unless  it  be  the  balls.  Six 
out  of  seven  women  whom  you  meet  in  society  are  over  thirty,  and  many 
of  them  over  forty  and  fifty,  — not  to  say  sixty.  The  older  they  are,  the 
more  they  are  dressed  and  diamonded.  Aoung  girls  dress  little,  and 
wear  very  little  ornament  indeed.  They  have  not  much  money  to  spend 
on  such  costly  luxuries.  At  the  Ascot  races  yesterday,  I  happened  to  be 

next  to  Lady - ,  a  very  pleasing  girl,  the  youngest  sister  of  Lord - 

She  seemed  disposed  to  bet  on  the  horses  ;  so  I  told  her  I  would  venture 
anywhere  from  a  shilling  to  a  sovereign.  She  said  she  never  bet  higher 
than  a  shilling,  but  on  this  occasion  would  go  as  high  as  half  a  crown. 
So  she  did,  —  and  lost  it.  It  was  quite  an  exciting  race,  between  a  horse 
of  Lord  Eglinton’s,  named  “  Flving  Dutchman,”  and  a  little  mare  of 
Lord  Stanley’s,10  named  “  Canezou.”  The  former  had  won  on  several 
occasions,  but  the  latter  had  lately  begun  to  make  a  name  in  the  world, 
and  Lord  Stanley’s  friends  were  eagerly  backing  her.  It  was  the  most 
beautiful  show  in  the  world. 

But  I  will  begin  with  the  beginning.  I  went  with  the  Lawrences. 
Wc  went  by  railway  to  Windsor,  then  took  a  carriage  to  Ascot,  some 
half-dozen  miles  distant.  The  crowds  of  carriages,  horses,  &c.  on  the 
road  filled  the  air  with  a  whirlwind  of  dust,  and  I  should  have  been 
blinded  but  for  a  blue  veil  which  was  lent  me  to  screen  my  hat  and  face. 
The  Swedish  Minister,  who  furnished  these  accommodations,  set  the 
example  by  tying  himself  up.  On  reaching  Ascot,  we  were  admitted  to 
the  salon,  which  stands  against  the  winning-post,  and  which  is  occupied  by 
the  Queen,  when  there.  It  was  filled  with  gay  company,  all  in  high 
spirits.  Lord  Stanley  was  looking  forward  to  a  triumph,  though  ha 
talked  coolly  about  it.  He  is  one  of  the  ablest,  perhaps  the  aflest,  debater 

»  The  period  at  which  he  then  proposed  to  embark  for  home. 

to  Now  (1862)  the  Earl  of  Derby. 


LETTER  TO  MISS  PRESCOTT. 


287 


in  Parliament,  and  next  Monday  will  make  a  grand  assault  on  the  Cabi¬ 
net.  This  is  the  way  he  relieves  himself  from  the  cares  of  public  life.  I 
euspect  he  was  quite  as  much  interested  in  the  result  of  the  race  yesterday 
as  he  will  be  in  the  result  of  the  Parliamentary  battle  on  Monday. 

The  prize,  besides  a  considerable  stake  of  money  from  subscription,  was 
a  most  gorgeous  silver  vase,  the  annual  present  of  the  Emperor  of  Russia 
for  the  Ascot  races.  It  represents  Hercules  taming  the  horses  of  Dio¬ 
mede,  beautifully  sculptured,  making  an  ornament  for  a  sideboard  or  a 
table,  some  five  feet  in  height,  and  eighteen  inches  square.  What  a  trophy 
for  the  castle  of  the  Earl  of  Derby,  or  for  the  Eglinton  halls  in  Scotland ! 

The  horses  were  paraded  up  and  down  before  the  spectators,  —  betting 
ran  very  high,  —  men  and  women,  nobles  and  commoners,  who  crowd 
the  ground  by  thousands,  all  entering  into  it.  Five  horses  started  on 
a  heat  of  two  miles  and  a  half.  The  little  bay  mare  led  off  gallantly,  — 
“  Flying  Dutchman  ”  seemed  to  lose  ground,  —  the  knowing  ones  began 
to  shake,  —  and  the  odds  rose  in  “  Canezou’s  ”  favor,  —  when,  just  as 
they  were  within  half  a  mile  of  the  goal,  Lord  Eglinton’s  jockey  gave  his 
horse  the  rein,  and  he  went  off  in  gallant  style,  —  not  running,  but  touch¬ 
ing  the  ground  in  a  succession  of  flying  leaps  that  could  hardly  have 
brushed  the  wet  from  the  grass,  for  it  began  to  rain.  There  was  a  general 
sensation ;  bets  changed ;  the  cry  was  for  the  old  favorite  ;  and  as  the 
little  troop  shot  by  us,  “  Flying  Dutchman  ”  came  in  at  the  head,  by  the 
length  of  several  rods,  before  all  the  field.  Then  there  was  a  shouting 
and  congratulations,  while  the  mob  followed  the  favorite  horse  as  if  they 
would  devour  him.  He  was  brought  directly  under  our  windows,  and 
Lady  Eglinton  felt,  I  have  no  doubt,  as  much  love  for  him  at  the  moment 
as  for  any  of  her  children.  It  was  a  glorious  triumph,  and  the  vase  was 
hers,  —  or  her  lord’s,  whom  I  did  not  see.  Now  I  did  not  feel  the  least 
excited  by  all  this,  but  excessively  tired,  and  I  would  not  go  to  another 
race,  if  I  could  do  it  by  walking  into  the  next  street ;  that  is,  if  I  had  to 
sit  it  out,  as  I  did  here,  for  three  mortal  hours.  How  hard  the  English 
fine  people  are  driven  for  amusement ! 

Coming  home,  we  drove  through  the  royal  park  at  Windsor,  among 
trees  hundreds  of  years  old,  under  which  troops  of  deer  were  lazily 
grazing,  secure  from  all  molestation.  The  Thames  is  covered  with  swans, 
which  nobody  would  dare  to  injure.  How  beautiful  all  this  is  !  I  wish, 
dear  Lizzie,  you  could  have  a  peep  at  the  English  country,  with  its 
superb,  wide-stretching  lawns,  its  numerous  flocks  of  sheep,  everywhere 
dotting  the  fields,  and  even  the  parks  in  town,  and  the  beautiful  white 
cows,  all  as  clean  as  if  they  had  been  scrubbed  down.  England,  in  the 
country,  is  without  a  rival.  But  in  town,  the  houses  are  all  dingy,  and 
most  of  them  as  black  as  a  chimney  with  the  smoke.  This  hangs  like  a 
funeral  pall  over  the  city,  penetrating  the  houses,  and  discoloring  the  curtains 
and  furniture  in  a  very  short  time.  You  would  be  amused  with  the  gay 
scene  which  the  streets  in  this  part  of  the  town  present.  Splendid  equipages 
fill  the  great  streets  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  blazing  with  rich  colors, 
and  silver  mountings,  and  gaudy  liveries.  Everything  here  tells  of  a  proud 
and  luxurious  aristocracy.  I  shall  see  enough  of  them  to-day,  as  I  have 
engagements  of  one  kind  or  another  to  four  houses,  before  bed-time,  which 
is  now  with  me  very  regularly  about  twelve,  —  sometimes  later,  but  I  do 
not  like  to  have  it  later. 


288 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


Why  have  I  no  letter  on  my  table  from  home  ?  I  trust  I  shall  find  one 
there  this  evening,  or  I  shall,  after  all,  have  a  heavy  heart,  which  is  far 
from  gay  in  this  gayety. 

Your  affectionate  father, 

Wii.  H.  Pkescott. 


The  account  of  his  presentation  at  Court  is  much  in  the 
same  style  with  the  last.  It  is  addressed  to  Mrs.  Prescott,  and, 
after  an  introduction  on  slight  subjects,  goes  on  as  follows  :  — 


Thursday,  6  P.  M 

Well,  the  presentation  has  come  off,  and  I  will  give  you  some  account 
of  it  before  going  to  dine  with  Lord  T'itzwilliam.  This  morning  I  break¬ 
fasted  with  Mr.  Monckton  Milncs,  where  I  met  Macaulay,  —  the  third 
time  this  week.  We  had  also  Lord  Lyttleton,  —  an  excellent  scholar,  — 
Gladstone,  and  Lord  St.  Germans,  —  a  sensible  and  agreeable  person, — 
and  two  or  three  others.  We  had  a  lively  talk ;  but  I  left  early  for  the 
Court  affair.  I  was  at  Lawrence’s  at  one,  in  my  costume:  a  chapeau  with 
gold  lace,  blue  coat,  and  white  trousers,  begilded  with  buttons  and  metal, 
—  the  coat  buttons  up,  single-breasted,  to  the  throat,  —  a  sword,  and 
patent-leather  boots.  I  was  a  figure,  indeed  1  But  I  had  enough  to  keep 
me  in  countenance.  I  spent  an  hour  yesterday  with  Lady  M.,  getting  in¬ 
structions  for  demeaning  myself.  The  greatest  danger  was,  that  I  should 
be  tripped  up  by  my  own  sword.  On  reaching  St.  James’s  Palace  we 
passed  up-stairs  through  files  of  the  guard,  —  beef-eaters,  —  and  were 
shown  into  a  large  saloon,  not  larger  than  the  great  room  of  the  White 
House,  but  richly  hung  with  crimson  silk,  and  some  fine  portraits  of  the 
family  of  George  the  Third.  It  was  amusing,  as  we  waited  there  an 
hour,  to  see  the  arrival  of  the  different  persons,  diplomatic,  military,  and 
courtiers.  All,  men  and  women,  blazing  in  all  their  stock  of  princely  finery ; 
and  such  a  power  of  diamonds,  pearls,  emeralds,  and  laces,  the  trains  of 
the  ladies’  dresses  several  yards  in  length  !  Some  of  the  ladies  wore  coro¬ 
nets  of  diamonds  that  covered  the  greater  part  of  the  head,  others  neck¬ 
laces  of  diamonds,  and  emeralds  that  were  a  size  perfectly  enormous.  I 

counted  on  Lady - ’s  head  two  strings  of  diamonds,  rising  gradually 

from  the  size  of  a  fourpenee  to  the  size  of  an  English  shilling,  and  thick 

in  proportion.  Lady - had  emeralds  mingled  with  her  diamonds,  of 

the  finest  lustre,  as  large  as  pigeon’s  eggs.  The  parure  was  not  always  in 

the  best  taste.  The  Duchess  of - ’s  dress  was  studded  with  diamonds 

along  the  border  and  down  the  middle  of  the  robe, — each  of  the  size  of 
half  a  nutmeg.  The  young  ladies,  a  great  rnanv  of  whom  were  pre¬ 
sented,  were  dressed  generally  without  ornament.  I  tell  all  this  for  Liz¬ 
zie’s  especial  benefit.  The  company  were  at  length  permitted  one  by 
one  to  pass  into  the  presence-chamber,  —  a  room  of  about  the  same  size  a* 
the  other,  with  a  throne  and  gorgeous  canopy  at  the  farther  end.  before 
which  stood  the  little  Queen  of  the  mighty  Isle,  and  her  consort,  sur¬ 
rounded  by  her  ladies  in  waiting.  She  was  rather  simply  dressed,  but  ba 


LETTER  TO  MISS  PRESCOTT. 


289 


was  in  a  Field-Marshal’s  uniform,  and  covered,  I  should  think,  with  all 
the  orders  of  Europe.  He  is  a  good-looking  person,  but  by  no  means  so 
good-looking  as  the  portraits  of  him.  The  Queen  is  better  looking  than 
you  might  expect.  I  was  presented  by  our  Minister,  according  to  the  di¬ 
rections  of  the  Chamberlain,  as  the  historian  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella, 
in  due  form,  —  and  made  my  profound  obeisance  to  her  Majesty,  who 
made  a  very  dignified  courtesy,  as  she  made  to  some  two  hundred  others, 
who  were  presented  in  like  manner.  Owing  to  there  having  been  no 
drawing-room  for  a  long  time,  there  was  an  unusual  number  of  presenta¬ 
tions  of  young  ladies  ;  but  very  few  gentlemen  were  presented.  I  made 
the  same  low  bow  to  his  Princeship,  to  whom  I  was  also  presented,  and  so 
bowed  myself  out  of  the  royal  circle,  without  my  sword  tripping  up  the 
heels  of  my  nobility.  As  I  was  drawing  off.  Lord  Carlisle,  who  was 
standing  on  the  edge  of  the  royal  circle,  called  me,  and  kept  me  by  his 
side,  telling  me  the  names  of  the  different  lords  and  ladies,  who,  after  pay¬ 
ing  their  obeisance  to  the  Queen,  passed  out  before  us.  He  said,  he  had 
come  to  the  drawing-room  to  see  now  I  got  through  the  affair,  which  he 
thought  I  did  without  any  embarrassment.  Indeed,  to  say  truth,  I  have 
been  more  embarrassed  a  hundred  times  in  my  life  than  I  was  here,  I  don’t 
know  why ;  I  suppose,  because  I  am  getting  old.  I  passed  another  hour 

in  talking  and  criticising,  especially  with  Lady  T - ,  whom  E - 

D -  knew,  and  with  Lady  M -  H -  and  Lord  M - ,  all  of 

whom  happened  to  gather  in  that  part  of  the  room.  I  had  also  some  talk 
with  Sir  Robert  Peel  and  his  wife,  who  has  the  remains  of  beauty,  and 
whose  daughter,  much  admired,  according  to  Lord  C.,  has  much  beauty 
herself.  I  talked  also  for  some  time  with  the  old  Iron  Duke,  who  had 
more  gold  than  iron  about  him  to-day,  and  looked  very  well,  although  his 
utterance  is  not  perfectly  distinct,  and  he  is  slightly  deaf. 

After  the  drawing-room,  I  went  at  five  to  Stafford  House,  the  Duchess 
of  Sutherland’s,  where  I  lunched,  and  spent  a  couple  of  hours  in  rambling 
through  the  rooms  of  the  magnificent  palace  ornamented  with  hundreds 
of  the  most  exquisite  paintings  and  statues,  and  commanding  a  beautiful 
view  of  Hyde  Park.  Nothing  can  be  more  kind  than  the  behavior  of  the 
whole  of  Lord  C.’s  relatives  to  me.  Luckily  for  me,  they  are  of  the  best 
families  in  England.  They  treat  me,  one  and  all,  as  if  I  were  one  of 
themselves.  What  can  be  so  grateful  to  the  wanderer  in  a  foreign  land, 
as  to  find  himself  at  once  among  friends,  who  seem  to  be  friends  of  an  old 
standing  ?  If  I  were  to  tell  you  of  the  cordial  and  affectionate  greetings 
they  give  me,  I  should  seem  more  vain  than  I  seem  now,  I  fear, — if  pos¬ 
sible.  But  you  will  feel  that  I  am  talking  to  you,  and  do  not  say  half  1 
should  if  I  were  really  talking. 

I  am  most  desirous  to  embark  by  September  1st,  but  I  must  see  four  or 
five  specimens  of  English  country-life ;  and  Parliament  —  confound  it  — 
will  not  rise  before  the  middle  of  August,  unless  the  Ministry  are  upset, 
which  may  be.  I  have  invitations  to  Lord  Lansdowne’s,  the  Duke  of 
Northumberland’s,  Lord  Fitzwilliam’s,  the  Duke  of  Argyll’s,  and  all  that 
kith  and  kin,  —  and  several  other  places.  Lord  Carlisle  wants  me  to  go 
first  to  Castle  Howard,  then  to  old  Nawarth  Castle,  on  the  borders,  which 
he  has  entirely  restored  since  the  fire,  and  the  family  spend  some  weeks 
there.  I  am  afraid  all  this  will  carry  me  into  September.  But  if  so, 
13  s 


2'jo  WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 

I  shall  abridge  some  of  the  visits.  I  shall  try  to  embark  by  the  first  o. 
September. 


Your  loving  husband, 


Wm.  H.  Prescott. 


To  his  mother  he  begins  a  letter  in  London,  June  20th,  but 
continues  it  from  the  Bishop  of  Oxford’s  palace. 


Cuddesdox  Palace,  June  23. 

You  will  be  surprised  at  the  date  of  my  continuation,  perhaps  dear 
mother.  I  am  about  seven  miles  from  Oxford,  at  the  residence  of  the 
Bishop,  called  Cuddesdon  Palace;  a  very  old  building,  B?s“op  fc 

occupied  from  ancient  times  by  his  predecessors.  The  present  Bishop  is 
the  son  of  the  famous  Wilberforce.  He  is  a  very  handsome  man,  polished 
iS  hTs  manners,  and  an  eloquent  preacher.  He  invited  me  to  stay  here 
two  or  three  days.  We  have  besides  a  dozen  persons  in  the  house,  a 
brother  bishop,  Thirlwall,  who  wrote  the  “  History  of  Greece  an  amiab 
and  unpretending  scholar  ;  the  Lawrences ;  Lord  and  Lady  Lastlereag  , 
&c  It  is  very  convenient  for  me,  as  I  am  to-morrow  to  receive  the  degiee 
of  Doctor  of '  Laws  from  Oxford  University.  The  Marquis  of  Northamp¬ 
ton  11  who  is  also  here,  is  to  receive  a  degree  at  the  same  tune,  and  a 
special  convocation  has  been  called  for  the  purpose.  After  the  cieremony 
we  all  lunch  at  the  Vice-Chancellor’s,  and  return  in  the  evening  to  Lon 
don'  I  came  down  to  Oxford  yesterday  in  the  train^vith  the^  Lawrences. 
The  Bishop  was  obliged  unluckily  to  remain  in  London  till  this  morning, 
to  attend  the  christening  of  the  ’it  royal  infant.  He  had  arranged  there¬ 
fore  that  we  should  dine  with  the  Principal  of  one  of  the  Colleges  in  Oxford, 
after  which,  at  ten,  we  drove  over  to  Cuddesdon.  Lord  Northamp  on  and 
I  came  over  together,  and  I  found  him  a  lively,  sensible  person,  lull  o 
terestin"  anecdote.  He  has  travelled  a  good  deal,  and  is  much  connected 
with  science  and  scientific  men.  Before  going  to  bed,  the  whole  house- 
Sd- guests  included -went  to  the  chapel,  a  very  pretty  b  mid  mg 
erected  by  tire  present  Bishop,  and  heard  the  evening  service,  -  very  sol¬ 
emn  and'  parts  of  it  chanted  by  the  domestics  of  the  house.  There  are 
two  chaplains  attached  to  the  establishment.  My  bedroom  looks  out  on  a 
1-wn  dotted  with  old  trees,  over  whose  tops  the  rooks  are  sailing  and  ca  - 
ilr,  while  a  highly  gifted  nightingale  is  filling  the  air  with  his  melody.  I 
am  writing  vou  must  understand,  at  five  o’clock  in  the  afternoon  while  the 
rest  of  the  household  have  gone  to  the  afternoon  service  in  the  pansh 
church  I  went  there  this  morning,  and  heard  the  Bishop  preach.  He 
arrived  here  from  London,  late  last  night,  after  we  had  all  retired  to  rest 
Tte  church  is  one  I  should  much  like  you  to  see  It  is  of  the  greatest 
nnrinuit v  —  parts  of  it  going  back  to  the  times  of  the  Plantagenets,  to 
the'remns  indeed,  of  Henry  the  Third  and  John.  Is  not  that  a  glorious 
antiquity  ?  We  sat  in  the  venerable  pile,  where  prayer  and  praise  had 

it  President  of  the  Royal  Society.  He  died  the  next  year. 


LETTER  TO  HIS  MOTHER. 


291 


ascended  for  nearly  seven  centuries.  The  crumbling  walls  have  been  re- 
stored  by  the  present  Bishop,  a  man  of  great  architectural  taste.  The 
light  streams  in  through  the  stained  panes,  on  which  the  arms  and  names 
of  a  long  roll  of  bishops,  from  the  beginning  of  the  fourteenth  century, 
were  colored.  The  service  was  performed  with  a  ceremony  quite  Roman- 
Catholic.  The  chant  was  conducted  by  all  the  congregation,  as  it  seemed  to 
me,  and  a  great  deal  of  the  service  read  by  us  was  chanted.  The  sermon 
was  adapted,  or  meant  to  be  adapted,  to  a  parish  church  ;  but  I  did  not 
acquiesce  in  the  views  of  the  preacher,  though  the  tones  of  his  voice 
would  have  melted  the  most  obdurate  heart.  They  started  an  unfortunate 
urchin  who  had  fallen  asleep,  and  whom  he  paused  in  his  sermon  to  ad¬ 
monish  in  a  very  pastoral  but  decided  tone.  There  must  be  little  danger 
of  the  good  Bishop’s  flock  going  to  sleep,  I  should  think,  with  this  sort  of 
improvement  of  the  discourse.  In  truth,  he  is  so  eloquent  that  there  must 
be  very  little  danger  of  it  at  any  rate.  I  walked  with  some  of  the  ladies 
for  a  long  while  under  the  old  elms  in  the  grounds,  after  church. 

I  wish  you  could  see  the  pretty  picture  —  the  English  picture  —  under 
my  window ;  —  the  green  lawn,  as  smooth  as  velvet  and  of  as  deep  a  ver¬ 
dure.  There  are  circular  beds  of  roses,  and  yellow  and  purple  flowers, 
gayly  set  out  in  one  part  of  it,  clumps  of  stately  elms,  and  cypresses 
throwing  masses  of  shadow  over  the  turf,  and  several  of  the  party,  re¬ 
turned  from  church,  stretched  out  under  the  trees,  while  the  great  birds, 
the  rooks,  are  wheeling  in  the  air,  and  the  woods  are  alive,  as  the  evening 
sun  is  withdrawing  his  fiercer  rays.  For  it  has  been  “  real  ”  warm 
to-day. 

Cuddesdon  stands  on  a  high  terrace,  and  from  the  grounds,  which  are 
not  extensive,  you  have  a  wide  view  of  the  rich  vale  of  the  Isis,  as  it 
winds  through  Oxfordshire.  The  pastures  are  covered  with  white  or 
white-streaked  cattle,  that  look  as  if  they  had  been  groomed  like  horses,  so 
clean  and  shining  are  they,  and  flocks  of  sheep,  that  always  speckle  an 
English  landscape.  Then  there  is  a  beautiful  chime  of  bells,  that  has 
twice  sent  its  musical  echoes  to-day  over  hill  and  dale,  filling  the  air  and 
the  heart  with  a  sober  Sabbath  melody.  Then  just  beyond  the  grounds, 
around  the  old  church,  lies  the  country  churchyard,  where  rest  the  mortal 
part  of  many  a  brave  soul  that  lived  in  the  times  of  the  Edwards  and 
Henrys.  What  is  there  like  these  old  links  of  Time,  that  bind  us  to  the 
past,  —  as  much  our  past  as  it  is  John  Bull’s  ? 

To-morrow  morning  we  go  to  Oxford,  for  the  ceremony  of  Doctorizing 
which  takes  place  in  the  theatre,  before  the  Bigwigs.  Our  household 
all  go  over  to  do  us  honor,  and  eat  the  Vice-Chancellor’s  lunch,  who 
wrote  me  a  note  inviting  me  to  bring  my  friends.  So  fare  you  well,  dear 
mother.  Pray  be  careful  of  your  health.  Do  stay,  if  you  can,  some  time 
with  Susan  at  Nahant.  Give  my  love  to  her  and  Lizzie,  with  as  many 
kisses  as  you  please,  and  tell  my  dear  wife  she  must  take  this  for  her  letter 
this  time,  as  I  intend  to  write  to  Ticknor.  God  bless  you  all. 

Your  affectionate  son, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 

He  was  at  Cuddesdon,  as  we  have  seen,  partly  in  order  to  be 


292 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


near  Oxford,  when  he  was  “  called  up  ”  there,  as  the  phrase  is, 
to  be  made  a  Doctor  of  Civil  Law.  Of  this  he  gives  a  more 
distinct  account  in  the  following  letter  than  I  find  elsewhere. 

TO  MR.  TICKNOR. 


London,  June  26,  1860. 

My  dear  George, 

I  must  thank  you  for  your  kind  letter  by  the  Asia,  which  made  her 
trip  in  ten  days  and  a  bittock.  I  had  written  to  my  mother  from  Oxford 
that  I  should  send  you  a  line  by  this  steamer ;  so  you  will  consider  me, 
if  you  please,  as  quick  on  the  trigger  as  yourself. 

Well,  here  I  am  in  the  hurry-scurry  of  London,  up  to  my  ears  in 
dances,  dinners,  and  breakfasts,  some  of  the  last  at  10  A.  M.,  some  at  5 
P.  M.,  to  say  nothing  of  luncheons,  the  most  beautiful  of  which  that  I 
have  seen,  was  yesterday  at  Lansdowne  House.  I  am  booked  up  for  din¬ 
ners  to  the  middle  of  July,  and  then  I  intend  to  stop,  as  I  may  take  a 
week  for  a  trip  to  Holland,  —  the  land  of  my  historic  avenir.  Meanwhile 
I  have  invitations  of  one  kind  or  another,  often  three  or  four  a  day.  So 
I  shall  not  go  to  sleep  till  bedtime  certainly ;  and  I  believe,  though  I  have 
been  here  but  three  weeks,  I  have  been  industrious  enough  to  be  able  to 
form  a  pretty  good  judgment  of  the  stuff  of  which  London  society  is  made. 
On  the  whole,  it  is  a  very  extraordinary  kind  of  life,  and,  as  far  as  health 
is  concerned,  agrees  with  me  wonderfully.  My  eyes  and  many  et-ceteras 
are  improved,  and  even  the  digestive  organs,  which  must  form  the  great 
piece  de  resistance  in  the  battle,  so  far  come  up  to  the  mark  gloriously. 
Yet  it  is  a  life,  which,  were  I  an  Englishman,  I  should  not  desire  a  great 
deal  of;  two  months,  at  most,  although  I  think,  on  the  whole,  the  knowl¬ 
edge  of  a  very  curious  state  of  society,  and  of  so  many  interesting  and  re¬ 
markable  characters,  well  compensates  the  bore  of  a  voyage.  Yet  I  am 
quite  sure,  having  once  had  this  experience,  nothing  would  ever  induce  me 
to  repeat  it.  As  I  have  heard  you  say,  it  would  not  pay. 

The  world  here  are  all  in  great  agitation  and  suspense  as  to  the  fate  of 
the  Ministry.  It  hangs,  you  know,  on  the  vote  of  the  Commons  on  the 
Greek  question.  I  will  not  trouble  you  with  the  details,  with  which  you  are 
too  good  a  reader  of  English  politics  not  to  be  familiar.  I  was  in  the 
House  of  Peers  at  the  grand  charge  of  Lord  Stanley,  and  have  heard 
some  speeches  in  the  Commons,  but  not  the  best.  If  government  do  not 
get  a  majority  of  over  thirty,  at  least,  it  is  understood  they  will  go  out, 
and  then  there  will  be  such  a  scramble,  for  they  reign  by  the  weakness 
and  division  of  their  opponents.  The  voting  on  this  motion  will,  I  im¬ 
agine,  cause  no  less  division  in  the  government  ranks.  It  is  curious  to 
see  the  interest  shown  by  the  women  in  political  matters. 


What  will  interest  you  more  than  the  contest  is  the  assault  made  so 
brutally  by  Brougham  on  your  friend  Bunsen.  I  was  present,  and  never 
saw  anything  so  coarse  as  his  personality.  He  said  the  individual  took 
up  the  room  of  two  ladies.  Bunsen  is  rather  fat,  as  also  Madame  and  his 
daughter,  —  all  of  whom  at  last  marched  out  of  the  gallery,  but  not  until 


LETTES  TO  ME.  TICKNOR. 


21)3 


eyes  and  glasses  had  been  directed  to  the  spot,  to  make  out  the  unfortunate 
individual,  while  Lord  Brougham  was  dying  up  and  down,  thumping  the 
table  with  his  fist,  and  foaming  at  the  mouth,  tiil  all  his  brother-peers,  in¬ 
cluding  the  old  Duke,  were  in  convulsions  of  laughter.  I  dined  with  Bun¬ 
sen  and  Madame  the  same  clay,  at  Ford's.  He  has  since  received  scores  of 
condoling  visits,  as  well  as  the  most  conciliatory  communications  from 
Lord  Palmerston,  &c.,  &c.  It  will,  probably,  end  in  providing  a  place 
for  the  Corps  Diplomatique,  who  have  hitherto  been  shuffled  with  “dis¬ 
tinguished  foreigners  ”  into  the  vacant  space  around  the  throne. 

I  returned  day  before  yesterday  from  a  visit  to  the  Bishop  of  Oxford, 
Wilberforce,  you  know ;  one  of  the  best-bred  men,  and  most  pleasing  in 
conversation,  that  I  have  met  with.  However  canny  he  may  be  in  his 
church  politics,  he  is  certainly  amiable,  for  uniform  good-breeding  implies 
a  sacrifice  of  self  that  is  founded  on  benevolence.  There  was  some  agree¬ 
able  company  at  the  house,  among  them  a  lady,  very  well  read,  the  daugh¬ 
ter  of  a  Bishop,  who  told  me  she  had  never  heard  the  name  of  Dr.  Clian- 
ning !  I  gave  her  a  great  shock  by  telling  her  I  was  a  Unitarian.  The  term 
is  absolutely  synonymous,  in  a  large  party  here,  with  Infidel,  Jew,  Mo¬ 
hammedan  ;  worse  even,  because  regarded  as  a  wolf  in  sheep’s  clothing. 

On  Monday  morning  our  party  at  the  Bishop’s  went  to  Oxford,  where 
Lord  Northampton  and  I  were  Doctorized  in  due  form.  We  were  both 
dressed  in  flaming  red  robes  (it  was  the  hottest  day  I  have  felt  here)  and 
then  marched  out  in  solemn  procession  with  the  Faculty,  &c.,  in  their 
black  and  red  gowns,  through  the  public  street,  looking,  that  is,  we,  like 
the  victims  of  an  auto  de  fe;  though,  I  believe,  on  second  thoughts,  the 
son  benito  was  yellow.  The  house  was  well  filled  by  both  men  and  women. 
The  Archaeological  Society  is  holding  its  meetings  there.  We  were 
marched  up  the  aisle  ;  Professor  Phillimore  made  a  long  Latin  exposition 
of  our  merits,  in  which  each  of  the  adjectives  ended,  as  Southey  said  in 
reference  to  himself  on  a  like  occasion,  in  isaimus ;  and  amidst  the  cheers 
of  the  audience  wc  were  converted  into  Doctors.  We  lunched  with  the 
Vice-Chancellor,  who  told  me  I  should  have  had  a  degree  on  Commem¬ 
oration-day,  the  regular  day  ;  but  he  wrote  about  me  to  the  Dean  of  St, 
Paul’s,  who  was  absent  from  town,  and  so  an  answer  was  not  received 
until  too  lata.  He  did  not  tell  me  that  the  principal  object  of  the  letter 
wau  to  learn  my  faith,  having  some  misgivings  as  to  my  heresy,  M- — - 
wrote  him  word  that  he  thought  my  books  would  be  found  to  be  vouchers 
enough  for  me  to  obtain  a  degree.  So  a  special  convocation  was  called, 
and  my  companion  in  the  ceremony  was  a  better  man  than  a  military 
chief,  like  Lord  Gough.  I  like  Lord  Northampton  very  much.  He  was 
at  the  Bishop’s,  and  we  drove  together  from  Cuddesdon  to  Oxford.12  He 
is  a  man  of  very  active  mind.  He  told  me  some  good  anecdotes ;  among 
others,  an  answer  of  the  Duke  to  a  gentleman  who  asked  him  if  he  had 

12  Mr.  Prescott  had  already  received  more  than  one  honorary  degree  at 
home ;  but,  with  his  accustomed  ingenuousness  and  simplicity,  remembering 
how  lavishly  and  carelessly  such  distinctions  are  conferred  by  most  of  our 
American  colleges,  he  could  not  repress  his  satisfaction  that  he  was  “  now  a 
real  Doctor.” 


294 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


not  been  surprised  at  the  battle  of  Waterloo.  The  Duke  coldly  replied, 
“  I  never  was  surprised,  as  well  as  I  can  remember,  till  now,  in  my  life.” 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  his  fine  answer  to  a  lady  who  was  glorifying  his  vic¬ 
tories  ?  “A  victory,  ma’am,  is  the  saddest  thing  in  the  world,  except  a 
defeat.”  Now  that  Sidney  Smith  is  gone,  Rogers  furnishes  the  nicest 
touches  in  the  way  of  repartee.  His  conversation  even  in  his  dilapidated 
condition,  on  his  back,  is  full  of  salt,  not  to  say  cayenne.  I  was  praising 
somebody’s  good-nature  very  much.  “Yes,”  he  said,  “so  much  good¬ 
nature,  that  there  is  no  room  for  good-sense.”  Perhaps  you  have  heard 
of  a  good  thing  of  Rogers’s,  which  Lord  Lansdowne  told  me  the  ether 
day  he  heard  him  say.  It  was  at  Lord  Holland’s  table,  when  Rogers 
asked  Sir  Philip  Francis  (the  talk  had  some  allusion  to  Junius)  if  he,  Sir 
Philip,  would  allow  him  to  ask  a  certain  question.  “  Do  so  at  your 
peril,”  was  the  amicable  reply.  “  If  he  is  Junius,”  said  Rogers  in  an  un¬ 
dertone  to  his  neighbor,  “  he  must  be  Junius  Brutus.” 

Since  writing  the  preceding,  I  have  passed  half  an  hour  with  Lockhart 
in  his  own  quarters.  He  showed  me  some  most  interesting  memorials  of 
Scott ;  among  the  rest  the  diary,  in  which  the  trembling  character,  more 
and  more  trembling,  aud  the  tottering  thoughts  showed  the  touch  of  apo¬ 
plexy.  Very  affecting,  is  it  not? 

Macaulay  has  gone  to  Scotland  to  look  over  topography ;  among  the 
rest,  the  scene  of  the  massacre  of  Glencoe.  I  have  met  him  several  times, 
and  breakfasted  with  him  the  other  morning.  His  memory  for  quotations 
and  illustration  is  a  miracle,  —  quite  disconcerting.  He  comes  to  a  talk, 
like  one  specially  crammed.  Yet  you  may  start  the  topic.  He  told  me 
he  should  be  delivered  of  twins  on  his  next  publication,  which  would  not 
be  till  ’53.  I  was  glad  to  hear  him  say  this,  though  it  will  be  a  disap¬ 
pointment  to  brethren  of  the  trade,  who  think  a  man  may  turn  out  his- 
toricais,  like  romances  and  calicoes,  by  the  yard.  Macaulay’s  first 
draught  —  very  unlike  Scott’s  —  is  absolutely  illegible  from  erasures  and 
corrections.  He  showed  me  a  sheet  just  written.  I  found  cle  as  an 
abridgment  of  castle,  aud  all  on  that  plan.  This  draft  he  copies  always, 
with  alteration,  &c.  This  shows  more  care  than  I  had  supposed.  He 
tells  me  he  has  his  moods  for  writing.  When  not  in  the  vein,  he  does  not 

press  it.  Johnson,  you  remember,  ridiculed  this  in  Gray.  II - told 

me  that  Lord  Jeffrey  once  told  him  that,  haring  tripped  up  Macaulay 
in  a  quotation  from  “  Paradise  Lost,”  two  days  after  Macaulay  came 
to  him  and  said,  “  You  will  not  catch  me  again  in  the  Paradise”;  at 
which  Jeffrey  opened  the  volume  and  took  him  up  in  a  great  number  of 
passages  at  random,  in  all  of  which  he  went  on,  correctly  repeating  the 
original.  Was  not  this  a  miraculous  tour  d’dspritf  Macaulay  does  not 
hesitate  to  say  now,  that  he  thinks  he  could  restore  the  first  6ix  or  seven 
books  of  the  “  Paradise  ”  in  case  they  were  lost. 

The  world  here  is  agitated  by  the  debate  still  going  on  in  the  Com¬ 
mons,  on  which  the  fate  of  the  Ministry  depends.  Lord  Palmerston 
made  a  most  able  defence  evening  before  last.  The  Speaker  says  he 
never  heard  one  superior  to  it  since  he  has  presided  there,  nearly  a  dozen 
years.  His  wife  heard  the  whole  of  it,  and  seems  to  feel  the  full  glory 
which  has  come  upon  her  husband.  Yet,  although  it  has  made  a  good 
rally  for  the  party,  the  issue  is  very  doubtful.  Day  before  yesterday  I 


T.  B  MACAULAY 


J.  B.LIPPINCOTT  4  CO.  PHILAD* 


LETTER  TO  MRS.  PRESCOTT. 


295 


dined  with  your  friend  Kenyon.  I  found  him  kind  and  most  cordial.  It 
is  the  first  time  I  have  seen  him ;  no  fault  of  his,  for  he  has  called,  and 
repeatedly  asked  me  to  dine ;  nor  of  mine,  for  I  have  called  also.  But 
meeting  any  particular  body  in  London  is  a  small  chance,  —  too  small  to 
be  counted  on  by  any  person.  I  have  seen  much  of  the  Milmans  and 
Lyells.  Nothing  can  be  kinder.  Lord  Carlisle  and  his  whole  kith  and 
kin,  ditto.  These  I  had  some  right  to  count  upon,  but,  in  truth,  the  ex¬ 
pressions  of  kindness  from  utter  strangers  have  been  what  I  had  no  right 
to  anticipate.  I  avail  myself  so  much  of  this  friendly  feeling  that  I  flatter 
myself  I  shall  see  as  much  of  London  (the  interior)  in  six  weeks  as  most 
of  its  inhabitants  would  in  as  many  months.  Twice  this  week  I  kept  my 
ground  in  the  ball-room  till  ghost -time  had  passed,  once  till  an  hour  after 
dawn.  Am  I  not  a  fast  boy? 

Of  all  the  notabilities  no  one  has  struck  me  more  than  the  Iron  Duke. 
His  face  is  as  fresh  as  a  young  man’s.  He  stoops  much  and  is  a  little 
deaf.  It  is  interesting  to  see  with  what  an  affectionate  and  respectful 
feeling  he  is  regarded  by  all,  —  not  least  by  the  Queen. 

Do  you  know,  by  the  way,  that  I  have  become  a  courtier,  and  affect 
the  royal  presence  ?  I  wish  you  could  see  my  gallant  costume,  gold-laced 
coat,  white  inexpressibles,  silk  hose,  gold-buckled  patent  slippers,  sword, 
and  chapeau,  &c.  This  and  my  Cardinal’s  robe  on  Monday  !  Am  I  not 
playing  the  fool  as  well  as  my  betters  ?  No  wonder  that  the  poet  who 
lived  in  London  should  find  out  that  “  The  world ’s  a  stage,  and  all  the 
men,”  &c.  But  I  must  conclude  this  long  talk,  so  pleasant  with  a  dear 
friend,  but  not  without  thanking  you  for  so  kindly  condensing  my  char¬ 
acter  into  twelve  hundred  words ;  better  than  if  you  had  had  more  words 

allowed  to  tell  it  in.13  L - ,  in  the  haste  of  my  departure,  asked  if 

he  could  not  refer  to  some  one,  and  I  told  him  you  ;  for  I  had  rather  be 
in  your  hands  than  in  any  other  man’s  alive.  If  I  had  not  been  in  yours, 
I  should  have  been  in  his.  I  hope  to  get  something  better  than  the 

paralysis  effigy  which  L - got  of  me  an  hour  before  sailing,  as  I  am 

engaged  to  sit  for  my  portrait  next  week  to  an  excellent  artist,  Rich¬ 
mond,  in  the  same  style  as  our  Cheney,  for  Lord  Carlisle  ;  a  thing  I  did 
not  expect  to  do  again. 

With  ever  so  much  love  to  Anna,  and  Anika,  and  little  Lizzie, 

I  remain,  dear  George, 

Always  affectionately  yours, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 

TO  MRS.  PRESCOTT. 

London,  Sunday,  June  30,  1850. 

Dearest  Susan, 

I  go  this  afternoon  to  the  Dean  of  St  Paul’s  to  lunch  and  hear  his 
afternoon  service  in  the  great  Cathedral.  I  shall  call  for  our  good  friend 
Lady  Lyell,  and  take  her  with  me.  What  shall  I  tell  you  of  the  past 

18  A  notice  of  Mr.  Prescott,  which  I  prepared  for  a  publication  at  New 
York,  entitled  “Illustrious  Americans,”  where  I  was  limited  to  twelve  hun 
dred  words,  as  it  was  only  intended  to  explain  a  portrait  of  him. 


296 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


week  ?  I  will  run  over  my  engagements  for  yesterday  and  a  day  or  two 
coming,  that  you  may  know  my  whereabouts.  I  was  invited  to  a  rural 
party  at  a  Mrs.  Lawrence’s,  Ealing  Park,  where  went  the  Duke  of  Cam¬ 
bridge.  But  I  could  not  go,  having  engaged  to  visit  Lambeth,  the  old 
palace  of  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  with  my  friends  the  Milmans. 
And  friends  they  axe ;  I  wish  you  knew  Mrs.  M.,  you  would  so  like  her. 
Her  letter  to  me  last  summer  was  a  fair  index  to  her  character. 

I  received  your  letter,  enclosing  that  of  Amory,  to  whom  I  shall  write 
this  week.  But  I  write  so  much  to  you,  that  it  really  leaves  me  little 
time  for  others.  But  writing  to  you  is  my  chief  happiness,  as  it  is  talking 
with  my  best  friends,  you  and  mother.  Well,  where  was  I  ?  At  the 
Queen’s.  —  (The  servant  has  just  brought  me  a  note  from  Alison,  iuviting 
me  most  cordially  to  make  his  house  in  Glasgow  my  head-quarters,  should 
I  visit  Scotland,  where  he  goes  in  a  day  or  two.  That  is  kind  from  a 
brother  of  the  craft.) — After  some  of  the  company  had  paid  their 
respects,  dancing  began.  The  Queen  danced  a  quadrille  very  gracefully 
with  the  Prince  of  Prussia.  The  crowd  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
Queen  was  intense,  and  the  heat  suffocating.  I  strolled  through  the  whole 
suite  of  magnificent  apartments,  all  filled  with  a  blaze  of  beauty,  simply 
attired  in  the  young,  and  of  age  bejewelled  from  head  to  foot,  —  the  men 
in  their  picturesque  diplomatic  costumes,  or  military  or  court-dresses 
blazing  with  diamond-crosses  and  ribbons,  and  noble  orders.  It  was  a 
gorgeous  sight.  At  midnight  we  went  to  supper,  the  Queen  leading  in 
the  procession,  while  the  whole  band  played  the  grand  national  air.  The 
supper-table  ran  through  the  whole  leugth  of  the  immense  hall,  the 
farther  end  of  which  was  hung  with  gold  or  gilt  shields  of  great  size  and 
lighted  up  with  a  thousand  lights.  The  rest  of  the  room  was  in  compara¬ 
tive  darkness.  It  was  a  grand  stage  effect,  which  I  did  not  much  admire. 
The  servants  stood  next  to  the  wall.  They  were  as  many  as  could  stand 
at  the  tables,  which  at  the  end  were  united  by  a  transverse  table.  They 
were  all  gold  and  finery,  so  that  I  felt  very  diffident  of  calling  on  them 
for  anything.  The  Queen  kept  her  state  at  the  head  of  the  room,  and, 
as  well  as  her  guests,  was  on  the  inside  of  the  tables.  The  supper  was 
magnificent,  especially  in  fruits  and  confectionery.  You  know  I  have  a 
failing  in  the  way  of  confectionery,  and  the  English  have  varieties  that 
would  make  the  fortune  of  a  Yankee.  After  supper,  dancing  again,  till 
I  saw  one  young  lady  in  a  waltz  before  the  Queen,  who  never  waltzes,  go 
down  with  a  thump  that  I  thought  might  have  broken  a  bone.  Two 
other  couples  had  the  like  fate  that  evening.  The  floors  are  of  hard  wooa 
and  polished.  At  two  her  Majesty  retired.  So  could  not  I ;  for  my  car 
riage  was  more  than  an  hour  in  getting  to  the  door,  and  the  daylight  wat 
broad  in  the  streets  before  I  laid  my  head  on  the  pillow.  There  is  th« 
Court  Ball !  And  from  one  you  may  learn  all.  We  are  now  in  great 
stir  here  for  the  accident  which  has  befallen  Sir  Robert  Peel ;  I  called 
there  to-day,  and  left  my  card,  as  do  half  London.  It  is  curious  to  see 
the  interest  excited.  A  police-officer  is  stationed  at  the  gates  to  prevent 
disorder,  and  bulletins  are  handed  round  to  the  crowd,  containing  the  last 
report  of  the  physicians.  You  will  see  the  particulars  iD  the  newspaper*. 
It  is  a  serious,  very  probably  a  fatal  accident. 


LETTER  TO  MRS.  PRESCOTT. 


297 


July  3d.  —  Sir  Robert  Peel  is  dead  !  The  news  has  given  a  shock  to 
the  whole  town.  He  died  in  his  dining-room,  —  the  very  room  where  I 
was  with  him  a  fortnight  ago.  It  seems  a  frivolous  thing,  this  dining 
and  dancing  in  the  midst  of  death.  I  am  getting  a-weary  of  the  life,  I 
assure  you. 

Fourth  of  July.  —  William  came  in  upon  me  to-day  at  noon.  He 
arrived  in  the  Southampton  steamer  from  Gibraltar.  He  has  been  in 
Africa  and  Southern  Spain,  and,  as  his  letters  remained  in  Paris  by  his 
orders,  he  heard  nothing  of  my  being  in  London  till  he  received  a  note 
from,  err  Minister  in  Madrid.  He  looks  very  well,  just  as  he  did  when  he 
sailed,  except  that  he  is  as  black  as  a  Moor  from  the  African  sun.  It  was 
a  merry  meeting  on  both  sides.  He  is  very  simple  and  unaffected  in  his 
manners,  and  is  full  of  his  adventures.  He  has  brought  with  him  your 
daguerrotype,  the  sight  of  which,  dear,  was  as  welcome  to  me  as  the 
sight  of  him.  He  has  left  some  articles  in  Paris,  and  I  think  I  shall  let 
him  run  over  there  for  a  few  days.  On  the  20th,  I  shall  go  with  him  for 
a  week  to  Belgium  ;  then  take  him  with  me  to  a  few  country-places,  and 
early  in  September  I  shall  embark.  If  Parliament  did  not  continue  sitting 
till  the  middle  of  August,  I  should  not  be  so  late.  With  love  to  mother 
and  Lizzie,  and  to  E.  Dexter, 

I  remain  your  loving  husband, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 

My  eyes  are  much  better,  and  health  generally  very  good.  William 
compliments  me  by  saying  I  look  younger  than  when  he  left. 

I  am  now  -writing  to  Amory,14  and  shall  send  the  letters  to-day.  It  is 
a  fine  day,  and  I  go  at  noon  on  my  expedition  to  Greenwich  with  Ford, 
Lockhart,  Hallam,  Stirling,  Rawiinson,  Cummings,  the  African  lion- 
hunter,  &c.  William  is  to  be  one  of  the  party.  I  sat  up  with  him  late 
last  night  after  my  return  from  dinner,  till  one  o’clock,  hearing  his 
Southern  adventures,  and  indulging  with  him  in  the  fume  of  cigars. 

TO  MRS.  PRESCOTT. 


Wednesday  evening.  — Just  returned  from  the  Countess  Grey’s.  A  small 
party  of  ten.  I  sat  between  two  ladies,  whose  united  ages  amounted  to  one 

hundred  and  fifty,  Lady - -  and  Lady - ■.  There  was  also  a  charming 

lady  there  to  whom  I  lost  my  heart,  dear  wife,  some  three  weeks  since. 
Don’t  be  jealous,  she  is  over  seventy,  —  Lady  Morley,  a  most  natural, 
lively,  benevolent  body.  I  know  you  would  like  her.  I  really  think  the 
elder  bodies  here  are  very  charming.  In  fact,  nobody  is  old.  I  have  not 
seen  any  up  to  one  I  have  left  in  Beacon  Street.  What  a  delightful  letter 
from  mother  !  Your  letters  of  June  30th  came  in  this  afternoon.  I  have 
sent  your  nice  little  notes  to  Lady  Lyell  and  Mrs.  Smith.  How  good  it 
was  in  them  to  write  !  Your  note  to  me  was  a  shabby  one.  You  must 

u  His  younger  son,  William  Amory  Prescott. 

13* 


298  WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 

not  write  the  less  that  others  write.  I  shall  answer  Anna  Tieknor  by  a 
good  letter  this  mail  for  her  kindness  in  thinking  of  me. 


TO  MRS.  TICKNOR. 


Loxdon,  July  18,  1850. 

Thank  you,  my  dear  Anna,  for  so  kindly  thinking  of  me  in  the  practi¬ 
cal  way  of  a  letter.  I  knew  your  superscription  before  I  broke  the  seal, 
and  it  was  “good  for  sair  e’en.”  I  did  mean  to  answer  yon  with  a  bigger 
letter,  hut  on  returning  home  this  evening  after  a  visit  to  the  city,  1 
my  friends  here  had  cut  out  work  enough  for  Mr.  Kirk  which  could  not 
be  passed  over.  To-morrow  I  go  to  the  Continent,  an  historical  tour,  for 

11  Thlve8  now  seen  life  in  London  and  its  environs,  wealth  wit,  and 
beauty  and  rank;  sometimes  without  either ;  women  talking  politics,  men 
talking  nonsense;  literary  breakfasts,  fashionable  dinners,  convivial  din¬ 
ners,  political  dinners;  lords  without  pretension,  citizens  with  a  good  deal, 
literary  lions,  fashionable  lions,  the  Ncpaulese,  the  hippopotamus,  &c.,  Ac. 
But  I  have  not  seen  an  old  woman.  As  to  age,  nobody,  i nan  or  woman 
is  old  here.  Even  Miss  Berry  is  but  getting  old.  I  forgot,  however. 
Miss  Joanna  Baillie,  -  decidedly  old,  much  older  than  her  sister.  What 
a  little  world  it  is  1  Everything  is  drawn  into  the  vortex,  and  ‘here  they 
swim  round  and  round,  so  that  you  may  revolve  for  weeks,  and  not  meet 
a  familiar  face  half  a  dozen  times.  Yet  there  is  monotony  in  some  t  i  gs 
_  that  everlasting  turbot  and  shrimp-sauce.  I  shall  never  abide  a  turbot 

'  ^  The  dinners  are  very  agreeable,  if  you  are  planted  between  agree 
able  people.  But  what  a  perilous  affair  the  settling  of  the  respective 
grades,  as  you  move  in  solemn  procession  to  the  banquet  1  It  is  a  nation 
&  i  defined  as  those  in  India.  But  what  cordial  hearts  are  some¬ 
times  found  under  the  crust  of  shyness  and  reserve  There  are  some, 
however,  so  invincibly  shy  that  they  benumb  the  faculties  of  any  one, 
at  least  any  stranger  who  approaches  them.  , 

I  have  found  the  notabilities  here  pretty  much  as  I  had  supposed. 
Macaulay  is  the  most  of  a  miracle.  His  tours  in  the  way  of  memory 
stagger  belief.  He  does  not  go  about  much  now,  except  at  breakfast.  I 
lost  a  pleasant  dinner  with  him  on  Monday  at  Denison  s.  His  talk  is  li 
the  labored,8  but  still  unintermitting,  jerks  of  a  pump.  But  it  is  anything 
but  wishy-washy.  It  keeps  the  mind,  however,  on  too  great  a  tension  for 
table-talk.  The  Milmans  are  the  most  lovable  people  I  have  met  wit  , 
Sways  excepting  our  friends  the  Lyclls  and  Lord  Carlisle  and  his  family 
These  arc  the  people  whom  I  have  seen  the  most  of,  and  enjoyed  the 
,nost  ■  -  invariable  kindness,  shown  not  merely  m  passing  hospitality 
but  active  measures  for  promoting  one’s  happiness  in  every  way  that  a 
stranger  could  desire.  I  have  seen  Rogers  several  times,  that  is  all  that 
is  out  of  the  bed-clothes.  His  talk  is  still  sauce  piquante.  The  best 
thinv  on  record  of  his  late  sayings  is  his  reply  to  Lady - ,  who  at 


15  His  secretary. 


LETTER  TO  MRS.  TICKNOR. 


299 


dinner-table,  observing  Mm  speaking  to  a  lady,  said,  “  I  hope,  Mr.  Rogers, 
you  are  not  attacking  me !  ”  “  Attacking  yon  !  ”  he  said,  “  why,  my 

dear  Lady - I  have  been  all  my  life,  defending  you.”  Wit  could  go 

no  further. 

Since  writing  the  above,  I  have  returned  from  a  dinner  with  Lockhart. 
We  had  only  Ford,  Stirling,  and  Major  Rawlinson.  Carlyle  was  invited, 
but  was  unwell.  He  came  the  other  day  to  a  place  five  minutes  after  I 
left  it,  and  I  sat  next  but  two  to  him  at  a  dinner-table  some  time  since, 
and  never  knew  I  was  in,  Ms  company.  Odd  enough  !  It  proves  he  did 
not  talk  loud  that  day.  So  I  have  never  seen  him;  is  it  not  droll'?  Yet 
there  are  many  men  I  should  have  more  cared  to  see.  Lockhart  showed 
us  the  diary  of  Sir  Walter.  He  (Lockhart)  had  two  copies  of  it  printed 
for  himself.  One  of  them  was  destroyed  in  printing  the  Memoir,  for 
which  he  made  extracts. 

But  I  must  bid  you  good-night,  dear  Anna,  as  it  is  midnight.  The  iron 
tongue  strikes  it  as  I  write  these  words.  Good  night,  dear  friend. 
Much  love  to  George  and  to  Anika.  Thank  your  husband  for  his  kind 
letter,  which  he  will  be  kind  enough  to  consider  partly  answered  in  this. 
Love  to  little  Lizzie. 

Believe  me,  now  and  ever, 

Yours  affectionately, 


Wm.  H.  Fbescott. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


1850. 


Leaves  London.  —  Hasty  Visit  to  Paris,  Brussels,  and  Antwerp 
—  Letters.  —  Return  to  London. —  Visits  in  the  Country. —  Let¬ 
ters. —  End  of  his  Visit  to  England.  —  English  Character  and 
Society. 


HE  expedition  to  the  Continent  was  begun  the  next  day 


B  after  the  last  letter  was  written,  and  on  the  afternoon  of 
the  day  following,  July  20th,  Mr.  Prescott  was  in  Paris.  But 
he  did  not  stop  there.  He  was  in  brilliant  Paris  hardly  two 
days,  and  one  of  them  was  a  Sunday.  He  left  it  on  the  22d, 
and  on  the  23d  wrote  from  Antwerp  to  Mrs.  Prescott  a  long 
letter,  from  which  I  select  the  portion  that  has  a  general 
interest. 


TO  MRS.  PRESCOTT. 


Antwerp,  July  23,  1850. 


In  Brussels  I  found  myself  in  the  heart  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Old 
buildings  of  stone,  curiously  carved,  immense  gables  and  fantastic  archi¬ 
traves,  and  cornices  of  the  houses  ;  churches  with  antique  Gothic  spires. 
The  Place  Rovale,  in  which  my  hotel  stood,  was  the  spot  on  which 
Charles  the  Fifth  abandoned  the  crown  in  presence  of  the  most  royal 
assembly  that  ever  met  in  Brussels.  What  do  I  dream  of  at  night  1  Not 
Charles  the  Fifth,  but  Boston.  That  is  a  fact ;  hut  my  waking  dreams 
were  of  the  sixteentli  century.  I  visited  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  a  most  glorious 
municipal  monument  of  the  Middle  Ages,  standing  as  it  stood  when, 
directly  in  front  of  it,  those  gallant  nobles,  Egmont  and  Horne,  were  be¬ 
headed  on  a  public  scaffold  by  order  of  Alva.  I  visited  the  house,  a  fine 
old  Gothic  edifice,  still  standing,  from  which  the  Flemish  patriots  walked 
out  to  the  scaffold,  and  from  the  windows  of  which  Alva  witnessed  the 
execution.  What  a  square  that  is  1  If  I  don’t  make  something  out  of 
my  visit  to  Brussels  and  its  glorious  squares,  I  don’t  know  what  there  is 
in  eyesight.  Yet  I  do  know  what  there  is  in  the  want  of  it  too  well. 
My  eyes,  however,  have  been  much  better  of  late,  and  I  read  some  every 
day.  Then  the  noble  cathedral  of  Brussels,  dedicated  to  Saint  Gudule ; 
the  superb  organ  filling  its  long  aisles  with  the  most  heart-thrilling  tones, 
as  the  voices  of  the  priests,  dressed  in  their  rich  robes  of  purple  and  gold, 


LETTER  TO  MRS.  PRESCOTT. 


301 


rose  in  a  chant  that  died  away  in  the  immense  vaulted  distance  of  the 
cathedral.  It  was  the  service  for  the  dead,  and  the  coffin  of  some  wealthy 
burgher,  probably,  to  judge  from  its  decorations,  was  in  the  choir.  A 
number  of  persons  were  kneeling  and  saying  their  prayers  in  rapt  atten¬ 
tion,  little  heeding  the  Protestant  strangers  who  were  curiously  gazing  at 
the  pictures  and  statues  with  which  the  edifice  was  filled.  I  was  most 
struck  with  one  poor  woman  who  was  kneeling  at  the  shrine  of  the  saint, 
whose  marble  corpse,  covered  by  a  decent  white  gauze  veil,  lay  just  before 
her,  separated  only  by  a  light  railing.  The  setting  sun  was  streaming 
in  through  the  rich  colored  panes  of  the  magnificent  windows,  that  rose 
from  the  floor  to  the  ceiling  of  the  cathedral,  some  hundred  feet  in  height. 
The  glass  was  of  the  time  of  Charles  the  Fifth,  and  I  soon  recognized 
his  familiar  face,  the  wliapper-jaw  of  the  Austrian  line.  As  I  heard  I  he 
glorious  anthem  rise  up  to  Heaven  in  this  time-honored  cathedral,  which 
had  witnessed  generation  after  generation  melt  away,  and  which  now  dis¬ 
played  the  effigies  of  those,  in  undying  colors,  who  had  once  worshipped 
within  its  walls,  I  was  swept  back  to  a  distant  period,  and  felt  I  was  a 
contemporary  of  the  grand  old  times  when  Charles  the  Fifth  held  his 
Chapters  of  the  Golden  Fleece  in  this  very  building. 

But  in  truth  I  do  not  go  back  quite  so  far.  A  silly  woman,  with  whom 
I  came  into  Paris,  said  when  I  told  her  it  was  thirty  years  since  I  was  here, 
“  Poh  !  you  are  not  more  than  thirty  years  old  !  ”  —  and  on  my  repeating 
it,  still  insisted  on  the  same  flattering  ejaculation.  The  Bishop  of  London, 
the  other  day,  with  his  amiable  family,  told  me  they  had  settled  my  age  at 
forty,  and  that  is  just  the  age  at  which  Richmond’s  portrait,  so  excellent, 
puts  me !  So  I  am  convinced  there  has  been  some  error  in  the  calcula¬ 
tion.  Ask  mother  how  it  is.  They  say  here  that  gray  hairs,  particularly 
whiskers,  may  happen  to  anybody,  even  under  thirty.  On  the  whole,  I 
am  satisfied,  I  am  the  youngest  of  the  family. 

I  had  a  note  to  M.  de  Praet,  Leopold’s  Minister,  who  lives  with  him  in 
his  palace  at  Brussels.  Mr.  Van  der  Weyer  expressed  a  desire  that  I 
should  see  Leopold,  and  gave  me  the  letter  for  that  purpose.  It  would  have 
been  an  easy  matter,  as  the  king  is  very  accessible,  with  very  little  form, 
and,  as  he  is  a  clever  person,  is  an  interesting  one  in  the  line  of 
crowned  heads.  But  Fate  has  decided  otherwise.  On  calling,  I  found  his 
Belgian  Majesty  was  not  to  come  to-day  (I  am  writing  Tuesday,  the  2.3d) 
from  his  country-place,  and  had  sent  for  his  Minister,  half  an  hour  before, 
to  come  to  him.  As  I  was  to  leave  Brussels  in  a  couple  of  hours,  I  left 
the  note,  with  my  regrets,  and  thus  the  foundation  of  what  might  have 
been  a  permanent  friendship  between  us  —  I  mean,  of  course,  Leopold 
and  me  —  was  entirely  destroyed  !  At  three,  I  left  Brussels  for  Antwerp, 
another  of  the  great  historical  cities  of  the  Low  Countries.  Our  road  laj 
through  fat  meadows,  wheat  spreading  out  for  miles,  all  yellow  as  gold, 
and  as  high  as  a  man’s  head  ;  fields  of  the  most  tender  green  checkering 
the  landscape ;  rows  of  willow  trees,  elms,  and  lindens,  all  in  straight 
lines  ;  hedges  of  hawthorn  ;  such  a  fruitful  country  as  yotr  eye  never 
rested  on.  It  beats  England  all  hollow.  The  women  in  the  fields,  reap¬ 
ing  and  binding  the  sheaves  ;  the  cattle  all  speckled  white  and  black, 
suggesting  lots  of  cream,  delicious  butter,  and  Dutch  cheeses,  —  such  as 
Mr.  B - sent  me,  you  know  ;  cottages  wretchedly  poor,  shaded  by  old 


302 


WILLIAM  IIICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


trees,  and  enchanting  creepers  and  vvild-flowers ;  the  whole  as  level  as  a 
bowling-green.  Dear  Susan,  I  never  see  anything  beautiful  in  nature  or 
art,  or  hear  heart-stirring  music  in  the  churches,  the  only  place  where  music 
does  stir  my  heart,  without  thinking  of  you,  and  wishing  you  could  be  by 
my  side,  if  only  for  a  moment.  But  I  shall  be  by  yours  before  September 
is  closed.  I  mean  to  take  my  passage,  on  my  return  to  England,  for 
the  7th. 

To-morrow  I  go  by  steam  to  Rotterdam,  take  a  peep  into  Holland,  and 
see  “  the  broad  ocean  lean  against  the  land.”  It  will  be  but  a  peep.  — 
But  fare  thee  well.  Good  night,  dear.  Love  to  mother  and  Lizzie,  and  a 
hearty  kiss,  by  way  of  good  night,  to  both  of  them.  Remember  me  to 
Elizabeth  and  the  Ticknors,  and  believe  me, 

Your  affectionate  husband, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 

He  made  a  little  excursion  in  Holland,  and,  returning  to 
Antwerp  five  days  afterwards,  wrote  to  his  daughter  on  the 
28th  another  long  letter,  like  the  last  to  Mrs.  Prescott,  hut  one 
from  which,  as  in  that  case,  I  omit  such  details  as  are  of  a 
domestic  nature  and  do  not  belong  to  the  public. 


TO  MISS  PRESCOTT. 

Antwerp,  Sunday,  July  28, 1860. 

Dear  Lizzie, 

From  Antwerp  I  went  to  Rotterdam,  Delft,  the  Hague,  Haarlem,  and 
Amsterdam.  At  Delft  I  saw  the  spot  on  which  William  of  Orange,  the 
hero  of  the  Netherlands,  was  standing  when  he  was  assassinated ;  the 
very  spot  is  indicated  by  a  tablet  in  the  wall.  He  was  just  coming  down¬ 
stairs  when  he  was  shot  by  the  assassin.  The  pistol  has  been  preserved, 
and  is  so  long  that  it  could  hardly  have  been  presented  without  touching 
William’s  body  in  the  narrow  passage.  Was  it  not  an  interesting  spot  to 
me  1  I  wish  you  could  have  been  with  me  on  the  visit  to  Holland.  Life 
is  so  different  there  from  what  it  is  anywhere  else.  Your  mother  would 
revel  in  its  neatness.  The  great  streets  of  Rotterdam  and  Amsterdam  are 
filled  with  women,  all  busily  engaged  in  different  labors,  some  of  which 
with  us  are  performed  by  men.  They  were  all  dressed  in  neat  caps,  and 
with  no  bonnets  or  shawls,  —  so  it  seemed  as  if  we  were  in  some  great 
house,  instead  of  being  out  of  doors.  We  went  to  the  little  town  of 
Broek,  remarkable  even  here  for  its  extravagant  neatness.  The  streets 
looked  as  if  they  had  been  scoured  down  every  day.  We  went  into 
stables  where  the  accommodations  for  cows  were  as  nice  as  those  usually 
for  the  masters  and  mistresses.  They  have  a  front-door  to  each  of  the 
houses,  which  is  never  opened  except  for  weddings  and  funerals.  One 
thing  would  have  delighted  you  in  all  the  Dutch  towns,  the  quantities 
of  little  babies,  the  prettiest  little  rosy-faced  things  in  the  world,  and 
without  a  speck  on  their  clothes.  How  the  Dutch  mammas  manage  their 


LETTER  TO  MISS  PRESCOTT. 


303 


babies  and  their  other  handiwork,  I  don’t  comprehend.  But  every  woman 
almost  seems  to  have  one  of  them  in  her  arms.  On  the  whole,  I  was 
much  pleased  with  my  bird’s-eye  view  of  the  people,  men  and  women, 
although  the  former  do  smoke  intensely,  not  hesitating  to  light  their  pipes 
and  cigars  in  the  carriage  or  at  the  breakfast-table. 


On  the  29th  of  July  he  was  again  in  his  old  quarters  at 
Mivart’s  Hotel.  His  object,  however,  was  not  London  or  Lon¬ 
don  society ;  but  English  country  life,  and  what  is  best  in  it. 
He  began,  therefore,  a  series  of  visits,  with  which,  according  to 
his  previous  arrangements,  he  was  to  close  his  European  excur¬ 
sion  ;  stopping,  however,  one  day  for  a  most  agreeable  dinner 
at  Lord  Carlisle’s,  to  which  he  had  promised  himself  before  he 
went  over  to  Holland. 

His  first  country  visit  was  a  charming  one  to  Ham’s  Hall,  in 
Warwickshire,  where  he  went  with  a  kinsman  and  friend  of 
the  statesman  who  is  the  master  of  that  noble  and  luxurious 
establishment.  The  three  days  they  spent  there  were  most 
agreeable  in  all  respects,  involving,  as  they  did,  excursions  with 
a  brilliant  party  to  Kenilworth,  Warwick,  and  Stoneleigh  Ab¬ 
bey.  But  he  was  obliged  to  hurry  away  in  order  to  keep  an 
engagement  for  a  great  annual  festival  observed  at  Alnwick 
Castle,  in  Northumberland,  and  of  which  he  gives  a  full 
account  in  the  following  letter  to  his  daughter,  —  familiar 
certainly  in  its  whole  tone,  but  the  better  and  more  agreeable 
because  it  is  so. 


TO  MISS  PRESCOTT. 

Alnwick  Castle,  August  8,  1850. 

My  dear  Lizzie, 

It  was  very  good  of  you  to  write  me  such  a  charming  letter,  and  so 
very  interesting.  I  received  it  here  in  the  ancient  castle  of  the  Percy’s  ; 
and  it  was  more  pleasant  to  my  sight  than  the  handwriting  —  if  I  could 
meet  with  it  —  of  Harry  Hotspur  himself.  So  I  cannot  do  better  than  to 
answer  it  by  some  account  of  the  magnificent  place  where  I  am  now 
quartered.  We  reached  it  three  days  since  in  a  heavy  rain.  It  rains  in 
England  twice  as  much  as  with  us ;  and  in  the  North  and  in  Scotland  four 
times  as  much,  I  understand.  But  nobody  minds  rain  ;  and  the  ladies 
jump  into  their  saddles  or  put  on  their  walking-shoes  as  soon  in  a  drizzle 
or  a  light  shower  as  in  sunshine.  I  wonder  they  do  not  grow  web-footed, 
as  I  have  told  them.  I  received  a  note  from  the  Duke  a  day  or  two  before 
I  left  London,  advising  me  to  be  in  time  for  dinner,  and  it  was  just  after 


304 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


the  first  bell  rang  that  our  carriage  drove  up.  Alnwick  Castle  stands  at 
the  end  of  the  town,  from  which  it  is  cut  off  by  high  walls  and  towers,  — 
and  it  looks  out  ou  a  bold  hilly  country,  with  the  river  Alne  flowing  below 
its  walls.  My  chamber,  where  I  am  now  writing,  overlooks  a  wide  stretch 
of  border  land,  made  famous  by  many  a  ballad  ;  and  away  to  the  west 
rise  the  blue  hills  of  Cheviot,  with  Chevy  Chase  between,  and  farther  to 
the  west  is  the  field  of  Flodden.  Is  it  not  a  stirring  country  1  Then  to 
look  on  it  from  the  towers  of  Alnwick  1 

I  went  down  to  dinner,  and  found  the  Duke  with  a  few  friends,  waiting 
for  the  ladies.  He  gave  us  a  cordial  welcome.  He  was  no  stranger  to 
me,  as  I  have  met  both  him  and  the  Duchess  in  London.  He  is  a  good- 
looking  man,  with  light  hair,  blue  eyes,  rather  tall,  frank  and  cordial  in 
his  manners.  He  has  been  a  captain  in  the  navy.  He  immediately  took 
me  to  a  window',  and  showed  me  the  battle-ground,  where  Malcolm,  who 
succeeded  Macbeth,  was  slain,  when  besieging  Alnwick.  A  little  stone 
cross  still  marks  the  spot.  In  fifteen  minutes  the  company  assembled  in 
the  drawing-room  to  the  number  of  forty.  The  dining-room  is  very  large, 
as  you  may  imagine,  to  accommodate  so  many  persons.  There  was  a 
multitude  of  servants,  and  the  liveries,  blue,  white,  and  gold,  of  the  Duke 
were  very  rich.  We  had  also  our  own  servants  to  wait  on  us.  The  table 
was  loaded  with  silver.  Every  plate  was  silver,  and  everything  was  blaz¬ 
oned  with  the  Northumberland  arms.  The  crest  is  a  lion,  and  you  sec  the 
lion  carved  on  the  stone-work  displayed  in  sugared  ornaments  on  the  table, 
in  the  gilt  panelling  of  the  rooms,  &c.  As  you  enter  the  town  of  Alnwick, 
a  stone  column  some  sixty  feet  high  is  seen,  surmounted  by  a  colossal  lion, 
and  four  monsters  of  the  same  family  in  stone  lie  at  its  base.  The 
Northumberland  lion  has  his  tail  always  sticking  out  straight,  w'hich  has 
proved  too  strong  a  temptation  for  the  little  boys  of  Alnwick,  who  have 
amused  themselves  with  breaking  off  that  ornamental  appendage  to  a  little 
lion  sculptured  on  a  bridge  below  the  house.  After  dinner,  which  was  a 
great  London  dinner  over  again,  we  retreated  to  the  drawing-room,  where 
a  concert  was  prepared  for  us,  the  musicians  having  been  brought  from 
London,  three  hundred  miles  distant.  The  room  was  hung  round  with 
full-length  portraits  of  the  Duke’s  ancestors,  some  of  them  in  their  robes 
of  state,  very  showy.  I  went  to  bed  in  a  circular  room  in  one  of  the 
towers,  with  a  window,  shaped  something  like  a  rose,  set  into  a  wall  from 
five  to  six  feet  thick.  In  the  morning  I  waked  up,  and  heard  the  deep 
tones  of  the  old  clock  announcing  seven.  My  head  was  full  of  the  stout 
Earl  of  Northumberland  who 

“  A  vow  to  God  did  make, 

His  pleasure  in  the  Scottish  woods,”  &c. 

As  I  looked  out  of  the  window,  I  saw  myself  to  be  truly  in  an  old 
baronial  fortress,  with  its  dark  walls,  and  towers  gloomily  mustered  arouud 
it.  On  tho  turrets,  in  all  directions,  were  stone  figures  of  men,  as  large 
as  life,  with  pikes,  battle-axes,  &c.,  leaning  over  the  battlements,  appar¬ 
ently  in  tne  act  of  defending  the  castle,  —  a  most  singular  effect,  and  to 
be  found  only  in  one  or  two  fortresses.  It  reminded  me  of  the  description 
in  Scott  of  the  warders  pacing  to  and  fro  on  the  battlements  of  “  Nor- 
ham’s  castled  steep,”  while  the  banner  of  Northumberland  waved  high  in 


LETTER  TO  MISS  PRESCOTT. 


305 


the  morning  breeze.  It  was  a  glorious  prospect,  which  called  up  the  old 
border  minstrelsy  to  memory,  and  I  felt  myself  carried  back  to  the  days 
when  the  Douglas  came  over  the  borders.  The  dwelling  of  the  family  is 
the  keep  of  the  castle,  the  interior  fortress.  It  was  entirely  rebuilt  on  the 
old  foundations  by  the  Duke’s  grandfather.  But  in  conforming  to  them 
he  has  been  led  into  such  a  quantity  of  intricacies,  odd-shaped  rooms,  per¬ 
plexing  passages,  out-of-the-way  staircases,  &c.,  that  it  is  the  greatest 
puzzle  to  find  one’s  own  room,  or  anybody’s  else.  Even  the  partition- 
walls  are  sometimes  five  feet  thick.  The  whole  range  of  towers,  which 
are  offices  for  domestics  and  for  the  Duke’s  men  of  business,  together 
with  the  walls,  are  of  the  ancient  Norman  structure  ;  and  the  effect  of  the 
whole,  as  seen  from  different  points  of  view,  is  truly  majestic.  The  print 
which  I  send  you  may  give  you  some  idea  of  the  castle,  though  not  a 
very  good  one. 

At  a  quarter  past  nine  the  whole  household  assembled  for  prayers  in 
the  chapel,  to  the  number,  it  might  be,  of  over  a  hundred.  Services 
were  performed  by  the  Duke’s  chaplain,  and  at  parts  of  them  every  one 
knelt.  Prayers  in  this  way  are  read  every  morning  in  the  English  houses 
that  I  have  seen,  and,  where  there  is  no  chaplain,  by  the  master.  It  is  an 
excellent  usage,  and  does  much  for  the  domestic  morals  of  England. 
From  prayers  we  go  to  the  breakfast-table,  —  an  informal  meal.  After 
the  breakfast  the  company  disperses  to  ride,  to  walk,  to  read,  &c. 

One  day  I  amused  myself  with  going  over  the  different  towers  explor 
ing  the  secrets  of  the  old  castle,  with  a  party  of  ladies  who  could  not  be 
persuaded  to  descend  into  the  dungeon,  which  is  still  covered  by  its  iron 
grating  in  the  floor  above.  The  good  old  times  !  One  day  I  took  a  ride 

with  Lord  M - in  the  park,  to  see  the  ruins  of  Hulm  Abbey.  The 

park  is  a  noble  piece  of  ground,  surrounded  by  a  ring  fence,  a  high  wall 
of  ten  miles  in  circumference.  It  is  carpeted  with  beautiful  verdure, 
filled  with  old  trees,  and  watered  by  the  river  Alne,  which  you  cross  at 
fords  when  there  are  no  bridges.  As  you  drive  along  over  the  turf  and 
among  the  green  thickets,  you  start  hares  and  pheasants,  and  occasionally 
a  troop  of  deer.  The  Duke  has  some  red  deer,  which  at  times  it  is  not 

pleasant  for  the  pedestrian  to  meet.  Lord  O - told  me  that  he  was 

with  a  party  once,  when  a  stag  of  this  kind  planted  himself  in  the  path, 
and,  on  the  carriage’s  advancing,  rushed  against  the  horses,  and  plunged 
his  horns  into  the  heart  of  one  of  them,  who  reared  and  fell  dead.  On 
reaching  the  Abbey  we  found  the  Duchess  with  a  party  of  ladies  had  just 
arrived  there,  in  two  carriages  drawn  by  four  horses  each,  with  postilions 
whose  gay  liveries  looked  pretty  enough  among  the  green  trees.  The 
Abbey  is  in  a  deep  valley,  a  charming  cultivated  spot.  The  old  monks 
always  picked  out  some  such  place  for  their  nest,  where  there  was  plenty 
of  sweet  water  and  feed  for  their  cattle,  and  venison  to  boot.  We  wan¬ 
dered  over  the  ruins,  over  which  Time  had  thrown  his  graceful  mantle  of 
ivy,  as  he  always  does  over  such  ruins  in  England.  From  the  topmost 
tower  the  eye  ranged  along  a  beautiful  landscape,  closed  by  the  Cheviots. 
In  coming  home,  which  we  all  did  at  a  gallop,  we  found  lunch  ready  for 
us,  at  half-past  two  o’clock.  This,  too,  is  an  informal  meal,  but  it  is  a 
substantial  one  at  Alnwick.  After  lunch  we  again  took  care  of  ourselves 
as  we  liked  till  dinner.  In  shooting-time  the  park  affords  a  noble  range 


306 


WILLIAM  HICIvLING  PRESCOTT. 


for  the  sportsman,  and  plenty  of  trout  are  caught  in  the  streams.  Those  ot 
less  murderous  intent  frequent  the  library,  a  large  room  stored  with  some 
thousands  of  volumes,  —  some  of  them  old  enough,  —  and  hung  round 
with  family  portraits.  In  this  pleasant  room  I  have  passed  some  agree¬ 
able  hours,  with  persons  who  seemed  to  take  the  greatest  pleasure  in  hunt¬ 
ing  up  things  for  me  most  worthy  of  notice.  English  country-life  brings 
out  all  the  best  qualities  of  the  Englishman. 

At  seven  o’clock  again  came  the  dinner,  for  which  we  dress  as  much  as 
in  town.  One  day  we  all  dined  —  the  men  —  at  a  public  dinner  of  all 
the  great  tenant  farmers  in  the  county.  The  building  was  of  boards  and 
sail-cloth,  and  lighted  with  hundreds  of  gas-lights.  There  were  about  a 
thousand  persons,  and  the  Duke  and  his  guests  sat  at  a  long  table,  raised 
above  the  others,  and,  as  it  ran  crosswise  also  to  these,  it  commanded  the 
whole  hall.  It  was  an  animated  sight,  especially  as  the  galleries  were 
filled  with  the  ladies  of  the  Castle  and  the  County.  I  luckily  had  laid  in 
a  good  lunch  ;  for  as  to  eating  in  such  a  scramble,  it  is  hopeless.  There 
was  a  good  deal  of  speaking,  and,  among  others,  Lawrence  did  credit  to 
himself  and  his  country.  I  bargained  with  the  Duke  that  I  should  not  be 
called  upon.  Without  this  I  would  not  have  gone.  But  I  did  not  get 
off  without  some  startling  allusions,  which  made  my  hair  stand  on  end, 
for  fear  I  should  be  obliged  to  answer  them.  But  they  told  me  it  was  not 
intended.  The  Duke  himself  spoke  half  a  dozen  times,  as  president  of 
the  feast.  He  always  spoke  well,  and  the  enthusiasm  was  immense  ;  — 
cheering,  hip  hurrahs,  till  my  head  ached.  Our  Minister’s  speech  was 
most  heartily  received,  showing  a  good-will  towards  Yankees  which  was 
very  gratifying.  It  was  an  animating  sight,  the  overflow  of  soul  and 
60und.  But  I  had  rather  liave  eaten  my  cheese-cakes  alone  in  a  corner, 
like  Sancho  Panza. 

On  returning  to  the  castle  we  found  an  informal  dinner  prepared  for 
us,  and  in  another  room  a  superb  desert  of  cakes,  ices,  and  confectionery. 
The  tables,  both  at  breakfast  and  lunch,  are  ornamented  with  large  vases 
of  flowers  of  the  most  brilliant  colors,  with  clusters  of  white  and  purple 
grapes  of  mammoth  size,  pine-apples,  peaches,  &c.  Talking  of  flowers, 
it  is  the  habit  now  to  surround  the  houses  in  the  country  with  beds  of 
flowers,  arranged  in  the  most  artificial  forms,  diamonds,  circles,  &c.  The 
flowers  are  disposed  after  some  fanciful  pattern,  so  as  to  produce  the  effect 
of  brilliant  carpeting,  and  this  forms  quite  a  study  for  the  English  dames. 
And  such  flowers !  If  they  had  our  autumnal  woods,  they  would  un¬ 
doubtedly  dispose  the  trees  so  as  to  produce  the  best  effects  of  their  gaudy 
colors. 

Another  day  we  went  in  to  see  the  peasantry  of  the  great  tenants  dine, 
some  sixteen  hundred  in  number,  or  rather  we  saw  them  for  half  an  hour 
after  dinner.  The  Duke  and  the  Duchess  took  the  head  of  the  hall ;  and 
I  thought  the  people,  dressed  in  their  best,  to  whom  the  dinner  was  given, 
as  they  drank  off  healths  to  their  noble  hosts,  would  have  gone  mad  with 
enthusiasm.  I  nearly  did  so  from  the  noise.  The  Duke,  on  allusion  to 
his  wife,  brought  her  forward ;  and  she  bowed  to  the  multitude.  It  was 
altogether  a  pretty  sight.  Persons  in  their  condition  in  England  are 
obliged  to  be  early  accustomed  to  take  part  in  these  spectacles,  and  none 
do  it  better  than  our  excellent  host  aud  hostess.  They  are  extremely  be- 


LETTER  TO  MISS  PRESCOTT. 


307 


loved  by  their  large  tenantry,  who  are  spread  all  over  the  County  of 
Northumberland. 

The  Duke  has  shown  the  greatest  desire  to  promote  the  education  and 
comfort  of  his  peasantry.  “  He  wants  us  all  to  be  comfortable,”  one  of 
them  said  to  me;  and  the  consequence  is  he  is  universally  beloved  by 
them.  Both  he  and  his  wife  visit  the  poor  cottages  constantly ;  and  she 
has  a  large  school  of  her  own,  in  which  she  assists  in  teaching  the  chil¬ 
dren.  One  of  the  prettiest  sights  was  the  assembly  of  these  children  in 
one  of  the  Castle  courts,  making  their  processions  in  the  order  of  their 
schools ;  that  of  the  Duchess  being  distinguished  by  green  jackets.  The 
Duke  and  Duchess  stood  on  the  steps,  and  the  little  children,  as  they 
passed,  ail  made  their  bows  and  courtesies,  a  band  playing  all  the  while. 
Afterwards  came  the  feasting.  It  was  a  happy  day  for  the  little  urchins, 
—  a  visit  to  the  Castle ;  and  I  am  told  there  was  no  such  thing  as  getting 
any  study  out  of  them  for  days  previous ;  —  and  I  will  answer  for  it  there 
will  be  none  for  days  to  come.  As  they  all  joined  in  the  beautiful  an¬ 
them,  “  God  save  the  Queen,”  the  melody  of  the  little  voices  rose  up  so 
clear  and  simple  in  the  open  court-yard,  that  everybody  was  touched. 
Though  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  anthem,  some  of  my  opera  tears, 
dear  Lizzie,  came  into  my  eyes,  and  did  me  great  credit  with  some  of  the 
John  and  Jeannie  Bulls  by  whom  I  was  surrounded. 

Edinburgh,  August  11  th.  —  Here  I  am  in  the  Scottish  capital,  dear  Liz¬ 
zie,  where  we  have  met  Mr.  Kirk,  on  his  Northern  pilgrimage,  and  to 
save  time  I  am  dictating  this  letter  to  him.  But  I  must  leave  Edinburgh 
till  another  time,  and  wind  up  now  with  Alnwick.  When  it  was  known 
I  was  going,  I  had  a  quantity  of  invitations  all  along  my  route,  and 
memoranda  given  me  to  show  how  I  could  best  get  to  the  different  places. 
I  took  them  all  kindly,  as  they  were  meant,  but  can  go  to  none.  One  of 

them,  Lord  and  Lady  O - ,  would  have  given  me  an  interesting  place, 

for  it  is  the  only  one  which  still  preserves  the  famous  breed  of  Chilling- 
ham  cattle,  snow-white  and  still  as  untamed  as  zebras.  The  estate  is 

really  that  of  Lord  O - -’s  father,  a  blind  old  peer,  whose  wife  told  me 

in  London  that  she  had  read  my  histories  aloud  to  him.  So  he  might 
have  known  me  without  his  eyes.  My  friendly  hosts  remonstrated  on  my 
departure,  as  they  had  requested  me  to  make  them  a  long  visit,  and  “  I 
never  say  what  I  do  not  mean,”  said  the  Duke,  in  an  honest  way.  And 
when  I  thanked  him  for  his  hospitable  welcome,  “  It  is  no  more,”  he  said, 
“  than  you  should  meet  in  every  house  in  England.”  That  was  hearty. 
They  urged  me  next  time  to  bring  your  mother.  I  rather  think  I  shall ! 
They  invited  me  also  to  their  place  at  Stanwick ;  a  pretty  spot,  which 
they  like  better  than  Alnwick,  living  there  in  less  state,  which,  as  I  learn 
from  others,  he  keeps  up  no  more  than  is  absolutely  necessary.  He  goes 
from  Alnwick  to  Keilder,  where  he  and  the  Duchess  pass  a  couple  of 
months  with  never  more  than  two  friends,  the  house  being  so  small  that 
the  dinner-room  is  also  the  sitting-room.  We  can  do  better  than  this  at 
the  Highlands ;  Heaven  bless  the  place  dearer  to  me  than.  Highlands  or 
Lowlands  in  any  other  quarter  of  the  globe  ! 

Yesterday  we  went  to  Abbotsford,  Melrose  Abbey,  and  Dryburgh. 
Shade  of  Scott !  1  had  a  note  from  Lockhart,  which  instructed  the 

housekeeper  to  let  me  and  my  friends  take  our  fill  of  the  hallowed  pro- 


308 


WILLIAM  inCKLING  PRESCOTT. 


cincts.  As  I  looked  through  the  iron  grating  of  Drvburgh,  and  saw  thw 
stone  sarcophagus  of  the  great  minstrel,  it  seemed  as  if  I  was  looking 
with  you,  dear,  through  the  iron  bars  that  fence  in  the  marble  sarcophagus 
of  our  great  and  good  Washington.  But  1  must  finish.  To-morrow  for 
the  North,  —  Loch  Katrine,  Loch  Lomond,  Inverary  Castle,  where  I 
shall  halt  for  a  few  days.  I  have  told  William  he  ought  to  write  to  you, 
hut  he  says  the  family  have  given  up  writing  to  him,  so  he  leaves  it  all  to 
me.  How  do  you  like  that1?  I  am  glad  you  take  so  much  comfort  in 

- ;  I  knew  you  would.  Pray  remember  me  to  the  dear  girl,  and  to 

- ,  and  to - ,  when  you  write  her.  I  mean  to  write  to  her  soon. 

But  you  see  what  long  letters  I  send  to  Pitful  Head.  Kiss  your  mother 
for  me.  I  know  you  are  a  comfort  to  her ;  you  cannot  be  otherwise. 
With  much  love  to  your  grandmother  and  Aunt  Dexter,  I  remain. 

Your  affectionate  father, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 

His  more  general  but  still  very  familiar  views  of  English 
society  may  perhaps  be  better  gathered  from  a  letter  written 
after  he  had  crossed  into  Scotland,  than  from  those  written  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Tweed. 

TO  MR.  TICKNOR. 

Edinburgh,  Aug.  16,  1850. 

Dear  George, 

As  I  could  not  send  you  a  letter  from  Alnwick  Castle  by  my  regular 
amanuensis,  I  have  deferred  sending  it  till  I  came  here,  and  have  taken  the 
liberty  to  carry  off  one  of  the  Alnwick  note-papers,  to  give  you  a  more 
vivid  idea  of  my  late  whereabouts.  I  was  much  pleased  with  my  short 
residence  there,  liking  my  noble  host  and  his  Duchess  very  much.  They 
are  in  truth  excellent  people,  taking  an  active  interest  in  the  welfare  of 
their  large  tenantry.  The  Duke  is  doing  much  to  improve  the  condition 
of  his  estates.  His  farmers  aud  tenants  appear,  from  the  glance  I  had  at 
them,  —  that  was  at  feeding  hours,  —  to  be  a  thriving,  contented  people, 
and  overflowing  with  loyalty  to  the  noble  house  of  Percy.  But  I  have 
written  particulars  of  my  visit  to  Lizzie,  in  a  letter,  which,  if  you  feel 
curious,  I  dare  say  she  will  show  you,  as  I  wish  all  my  letters  to  be  read 
by  you  and  Anna,  if  you  desire  it.  I  passed  also  some  days  with  Mr. 

A - ,  a  great  landed  proprietor  in  Warwickshire ;  quite  an  amiable, 

cultivated  person,  who  has  taken  an  active  interest  in  colonial  affairs  iu 
Parliament.  We  had  some  agreeable  people  in  the  house,  and  I  saw  a 

good  deal  of  the  neighboring  country,  in  the  society  of  our  friend  T - , 

through  whom  I  became  acquainted  with  Mr.  A - .  Air.  A - ’s  wife 

is  T - 's  cousin.  But  for  my  adventures  here,  I  shall  refer  you  also  to 

family  letters.  I  am  now  at  Edinburgh  en  route  for  the  North,  and  pro¬ 
pose  to  be  at  Inverary  Castle  at  the  end  of  three  days,  taking  the  way  of 
Stirling,  Loch  Katrine,  &e. 


LETTER  TO  MR.  TICKNOR. 


309 


I  have  been  now  long  enough  in  London  society,  I  believe,  to  under¬ 
stand  sometliing  of  it,  and  something  also  of  English  country  life,  —  far 
the  noblest  phase.  Yet  neither  one  nor  the  other,  as  they  are  conducted 
in  the  great  houses,  would  be  wholly  to  my  taste.  There  is  au  embarras 
de  richesses  ;  one  would  want  more  repose.  I  am  told  the  higher  English 
themselves  discover  something  of  this  taste,  and  that  there  is  less  of  pro¬ 
fuse  hospitality  than  of  yore.  This  is  somewhat  attributed  to  the  rail¬ 
roads,  which  fetch  and  carry  people  with  the  utmost  facility  from  the  most 
distant  quarters.  It  was  a  great  affair  formerly  to  make  journeys  of  two 
or  three  hundred  miles ;  arrangements  were  made  long  beforehand,  and 
the  guests  stayed  long  after  they  got  there.  But  now-a-days  they  slip  in 
and  off  without  ceremony,  and  the  only  place  where  the  old  state  of  things 
perfectly  exists  is  in  a  county  like  Cornwall,  too  rough  for  railways,  —  at 
least  for  many.  Your  railroad  is  the  great  leveller  after  all.  Some  of 

the  old  grandees  make  a  most  whimsical  lament  about  it.  Mrs. - 's 

father,  who  is  a  large  proprietor,  used  to  drive  up  to  London  with  his 
family,  to  attend  Parliament,  with  three  coaches  and  four.  But  now-a- 
days  he  is  tumbled  in  with  the  unwashed,  in  the  first  class,  it  is  true,  — no 
better  than  ours,  however,  — of  the  railway  carriages  ;  and  then  tumbled 
out  again  into  a  common  cab  with  my  Lad}  and  all  her  little  ones,  like 
any  of  the  common  pottery. 

There  are  a  good  many  other  signs  of  the  times  to  be  seen  in  the 
present  condition  of  the  aristocracy.  The  growing  importance  of  man¬ 
ufactures  and  moneyed  capitalists  is  a  wound,  not  only  to  the  landed 
proprietors,  but  to  the  peers,  who,  it  is  true,  are  usually  the  greatest  landed 
proprietors  in  the  country.  The  last  man  raised  to  the  peerage  was  a 
banker,  a  man  of  sense,  whom  I  have  met  several  times.  Another  peer, 

Lord  C - , — or  some  such  name,  I  may  not  have  got  it  right,  —  whose 

brother,  a  well-known  baronet,  —  I  forget  his  name  (I  have  a  glorious 
memory  for  forgetting,  and  they  say  that  is  an  excellent  kind  of  memory), 
—  was  raised  to  the  House  of  Lords  not  many  years  since,  —  actually,  I 

mean,  the  first  nominative,  Lord  C - ,  applied  to  the  Queen  the  other 

day  to  dis-pcer  him.  After  a  grave  consideration  of  the  matter  with  the 
Privy  Council,  it  was  decided  that  it  was  not  in  the  power  of  the  Crown 
to  do  so,  and  the  poor  man  was  obliged  to  pocket  his  coronet,  and  make 
the  best  of  it.  Sir  Robert  Peel  showed  his  estimate  of  titles  by  his  curi¬ 
ous  injunction  on  his  family;  as  indeed  lie  had  shown  it  through  his 
whole  life.  A  person  who,  I  believe,  is  well  acquainted  with  the  matter, 
told  me  that  the  Queen  urged  the  title  of  Earl  on  Sir  Robert  when  he 
went  out  of  office ;  but  he  steadily  declined  it,  requesting  only  that  her 
Majesty  and  the  Prince  would  honor  him  by  sitting  for  their  portraits  for 
him.  Two  indifferent  full-lengths  were  accordingly  painted  for  him  by 
Winterhalter,  the  Flemish  artist,  and  form  one  of  the  principal  ornaments, 
as  the  guide-book  would  say,  of  Sir  Robert’s  house.  Peel,  it  is  well 
known,  was  a  good  deal  snubbed  in  his  earlier  life,  when  he  first  became 
a  Cabinet  Minister,  by  the  aristocracy ;  so  that  he  may  have  felt  satisfac¬ 
tion  in  showing  that  he  preferred  to  hold  the  rank  of  the  Great  Commoner 
of  England  to  any  that  titles  could  give  him.  Yet  it  seems  almost  an 
affectation  to  prevent  their  descending  to  his  posterity,  though  it  is  true  it 
was  only  as  far  as  they  were  meant  as  the  reward  of  Ins  own  services. 


310 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


He  had  too  much  pride,  it  seems,  to  digest  this.  As  to  the  inferior  aris¬ 
tocracy  of  baronets,  knights,  &c.,  there  is  many  an  old  commoner  that 
would  refuse  it,  with  contempt.  You  know  our  friend  Hallam’s  decision 
in  regard  to  a  baronetcy,  though  he  did  not  express  himself  like  one  of 

the  old  family  of  T - ,  who,  when  he  was  told  that  it  was  intended  to 

make  him  a  baronet,  begged  that  it  might  be  commuted  to  a  knighthood, 
that  the  disgrace  might  not  descend  to  his  posterity.  I  had  the  story  from 
one  of  the  aristocracy  myself.  You  won’t  understand  from  all  this  that  I 
think  titles  have  not  their  full  value,  real  and  imaginary,  in  England.  I 
only  mention  it  as  a  sign  of  the  times,  —  that  they  have  not  altogether  the 
preacige  which  they  once  had,  and  the  toe  of  the  commoner  galls  some¬ 
what  the  heel  of  the  courtier. 

You  know  Sir  Robert  left  to  Lord  Mahon  and  Mr.  Cardwell  the  care 
of  his  papers.  The  materials  will  all  be  easily  at  hand  if  they  biogra¬ 
phize.  Reel  told  Mr.  A - ,  whose  estate  lies  near  to  Tamworth,  that  he 

preserved  all  his  correspondence,  except  invitations  to  dinner ;  and  on  one 
occasion,  wanting  an  important  letter  in  a  great  hurry  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  he  was  able  to  point  out  the  file  in  which  it  was  kept  so  ex¬ 
actly,  that  his  friend  Lord  L - went  to  Tamworth  and  got  it  for  him  in 

the  course  of  a  few  hours.  His  death  seems  to  have  broken  the  knot 
which  held  together  rather  an  anomalous  party.  Many  speculations  there 
are  about  them,  as  about  a  hive  of  bees  ready  to  swarm,  of  which  one 
cannot  tell  where  it  will  settle.  The  persons  most  important  in  the  party 
are  Sir  James  Graham  and  Gladstone,  two  of  the  best  speakers,  indeed, 
if  not  the  very  best,  in  the  House  of  Commons.  They  are  pledged,  how¬ 
ever,  to  the  Corn-Law  movement,  and  into  whatever  scale  the  Peelitcs 
may  throw  themselves,  there  seems  to  be  a  general  impression  that  there 
can  bo  no  decidedly  retrograde  movement  in  regard  to  the  Corn-Laws,  at 
least  at  present.  The  experiment  must  be  tried ;  and  the  diversity  of 
opinion  about  it  among  the  landholders  themselves  seems  to  show  that  it 
is  far  from  having  been  tried  yet. 

Before  I  left  town,  almost  all  your  friends  had  flown, — the  Lyells, 
Hallam,  the  excellent  Milmans,  Lord  Mahon,  T.  Phillips,  —  all  but  good 
Kenyon,  whom,  by  the  by,  I  saw  but  twice,  and  that  was  at  his  hospitable 
table,  though  we  both  made  various  efforts  to  the  contrary,  and  poor  Air. 
Rogers,  who,  far  from  flying,  will  probably  never  walk  again, — all  are 
gone,  and  chiefly  to  the  Continent.  Lord  has  gone  to  Turkey,  Stirling 
to  Russia;  Lockhart  remains  to  hatch  new  Quarterlies.  He  is  a  fascinat¬ 
ing  sort  of  person,  whom  I  should  fear  to  have  meddle  with  me,  whether 
iu  the  way  of  praise  or  blame.  I  suspect  he  laughs  in  his  sleeve  at  more 
than  one  of  the  articles  which  come  out  with  his  imprimatur,  and  at  their 
authors  too.  I  had  two  or  three  merry  meetings,  in  which  he,  Stirling, 
and  Ford  were  met  in  decent  conviviality. 

But  I  must  conclude  the  longest,  and  probably  the  last,  epistle  I  shall 
ever  send  you  from  the  Old  World,  and  I  hope  you  will  never  send  me 
one  from  that  same  world  yourself.  Pray  remember  me  most  lovingly  to 
Anna  and  Anika,  with  kind  remembrance,  moreover,  to  Gray,  and  Hil¬ 
lard,  and  Everett,  when  you  see  them.  No  American  Minister  has  left  a 
more  enviable  reputation  here.  Lawrence,  with  very  different  qualities,  is 
making  himself  also  equally  acceptable  to  the  English.  Addio,  vuo  caro 


LETTER  TO  MRS.  PRESCOTT. 


311 


With  mauy  thanks  for  your  most  interesting  letter  on  our  Yankee  poli¬ 
tics, —  more  interesting  to  me  here  even  than  at  home,  —  I  remain 
Affectionately  yours, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott- 

He  hastened  from  Edinburgh,  and  pushed  on  to  Inverary 
Castle,  the  Duke  of  Argyll’s,  picking  up  on  the  way  Sir 
Roderick  Murchison  and  Professor  Sedgwick,  who  were  bound 
to  the  same  hospitable  port.  There  he  remained  for  a  few 
days,  but  days  of  great  enjoyment,  and  then  turned  his  face 
southward,  feeling,  at  the  same  time,  that  he  had  the  happiness 
of  turning  it  towards  his  home.  But  great  pleasures  and  great 
festivities  still  awaited  him  on  the  hospitable  soil  of  Old  Eng¬ 
land.  Of  these,  the  most  ample  and  agreeable  accounts  will 
be  found  in  the  following  letters. 

TO  MRS.  PRESCOTT. 

Castle  Howard,  August  24th,  1S50. 

Dear  Wife, 

Here  we  are  at  Castle  Howard,  by  far  the  most  magnificent  place  1 
have  yet  seen.  But  I  will  begin  where  I  left  off.  After  bidding  adieu  to 
the  Duke  and  his  charming  wife  at  Inverary  Castle,  we  sailed  down  Loch 
Coyle  and  up  the  Clyde  witli  Lady  Ellesmere,  and  reached  Glasgow  at 
eight.  I  posted  at  once  to  Alison’s,  and  was  cordially  received  by  him 
and  Madame.  He  lives  in  an  excellent  house,  surrounded  by  a  handsome 
park.  I  found  a  company  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  passed  the  hours 
pleasantly  till  midnight,  when  I  returned  to  Glasgow.  Alison  has  a  noble 
library,  and  in  the  centre  of  it  is  a  great  billiard-table,  which,  when  he 
wrote,  he  covered  with  his  authorities.  Droll  enough  !  He  showed  me  a 
handsome  tribute  he  had  paid  to  me  in  the  last  edition  of  his  History. 
He  had  a  cheerful  fire  in  my  bedroom,  expecting  me  to  stay.  But  it  was 
impossible.  The  next  morning  we  left  for  Naworth  Castle,  where  I  was 
to  meet  Lord  Carlisle. 

This  is  a  fine  old  place,  of  the  feudal  times,  indeed.  In  the  afternoon 
we  arrived,  and  saw  the  towers  with  the  banners  of  the  Howards  and 
Daeres  flying  from  the  battlements,  telling  us  that  its  lord  was  there.  He 
came  out  to  greet  us,  dressed  in  his  travelling  garb,  —  for  he  had  just 
arrived, — with  his  Scotch  shawl  twisted  round  his  body.  Was  it  not 
kind  in  him  to  come  this  distance  —  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  —  solely  to 
show  me  the  place,  and  that  when  he  was  over  head  and  ears  in  prepara¬ 
tions  for  the  Queen  What  a  superb  piece  of  antiquity,  looking  stili  as 
when  Lord  Surrey’s  minstrel 

M  Forsook,  for  Na worth’s  iron  towers, 

Windsor’s  sweet  groves  and  courtly  bowers.” 

was  partially  injured  by  fire ;  but  Lord  Carlisle  has  nearly  restored  it. 


312 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


and  in  the  best  taste,  by  copying  the  antique.  Fortunately  the  walls  ol 
the  building,  with  its  charming  old  ivy  and  eglantines,  are  unscathed,  and 
a  good  deal  of  the  interior.  It  stands  proudly  over  a  deep  ravine,  bristled 
with  pines,  with  a  running  brook  brawling  below  ;  a  wild  scene,  fit  for  a 
great  border  fortress.  The  hall  is  a  hundred  feet  long  and  thirty  high, 
hung  round  with  armorial  quarterings  of  the  family.  Before  dinner  we 
visited  the  rich  old  ruins  of  Lanercost  Abbey,  which  stand  on  Lord  C.’s 
grounds  ;  walking  miles  through  the  wildest  mountain  scenery  to  get  at 
it.  Every  one  we  met  showed  a  respect  for  the  lord  of  the  domain, 
which  seemed  to  be  mingled  with  warmer  feelings,  as  he  spoke  kindly  to 
each  one,  asking  them  about  their  families,  &c.  Indeed,  it  is  very  grati¬ 
fying  to  see  the  great  deference  shown  to  Lord  Carlisle  all  along  the 
route,  on  my  way  to  Castle  Howard.  Every  one  seemed  to  know  him, 

and  uncover  themselves  before  him.  Lady  E - told  me  —  what  I  have 

often  heard  —  that  he  was  more  generally  beloved  than  any  naan  in  the 
country. 

We  found  on  our  return  a  game  dinner  smoking  for  us,  for  which  we 
were  indebted  to  Mr.  Charles  Howard,  a  younger  brother,  and  Baron 
Parke,1  his  father-in-law,  who  had  been  slaughtering  grouse  and  black¬ 
cock  on  the  moors.  Our  table  was  laid  on  the  dais,  the  upper  part  of  the 
long  hall,  with  a  great  screen  to  keep  off  the  cold,  and  a  fire  such  as 
belted  Will  Howard  himself  never  saw,  for  it  was  of  coal,  of  which 
Lord  C.  has  some  mines  in  the  neighborhood.  The  chimney,  which  has 
a  grate  to  correspond,  is  full  twelve  feet  in  breadth  ;  a  fine  old  baronial 
chimney,  at  which  they  roasted  whole  oxen  I  suppose.  We  all  soon  felt 
as  if  we  could  have  snapped  our  fingers  at  “  Belted  Will,”  if  he  had 
come  to  claim  his  own  again.  There  are  some  fine  old  portraits  in  the 
hall ;  among  them  one  of  this  hero  and.  his  wife,  who  brought  the  estate 
into  the  Howard  family.  She  was  a  Dacre.  The  embrasures  of  the 
drawing-room  windows  of  this  old  castle  are  about  ten  feet  thick.  I  have 

got  some  drawings  of  the  place  which  Lady - gave  me,  and  which 

will  give  you  a  better  idea  of  it.  Next  morning  we  took  up  our  march 
for  Castle  Howard,  —  seventeen  miles  from  York.  You  can  follow  me  on 
the  map. 

We  arrived  about  six  ;  found  Lady  Mary  Howard  in  a  pony  phaeton 
with  a  pair  of  pretty  cream-colored  steeds,  waiting  for  us  at  the  station, 
three  miles  distant.  There  was  a  rumble,  so  that  all  the  party  were  accom¬ 
modated.  The  scenery  was  of  a  different  character  from  that  of  Naworth. 
Wide-spreading  lawns,  large  and  long  avenues  of  beech  and  oak,  beautiful 
pieces  of  water,  on  which  white  swans  were  proudly  sailing,  an  extensive 
park,  with  any  quantity  of  deer,  several  of  them  perfectly  white,  grazing 
under  the  trees,  all  made  up  a  brilliant  picture  of  the  softer  scenery  of 
England-  We  passed  under  several  ornamented  stone  arches  by  a  lofty 
obelisk  of  yellow  stone,  and  at  length  came  in  full  Hew  of  the  princely 
palace  of  the  Howards. 

It  is  of  clear  yellow  stone,  richly  ornamented  with  statues  aud  every 
kind  of  decoration.  It  makes  three  sides  of  a  square,  and  you  will  form 
some  idea  of  its  extent,  when  I  teU  you  that  a  suite  of  rooms  continue* 


1  Now  Lord  Wensleydale  (1862). 


LETTER  TO  MRS.  PRESCOTT. 


313 


round  the  house  six  hundred  feet  in  length.  I  have  seen  floors  open 
through  the  whole  front  of  the  building-,  three  hundred  feet,  as  long  as 
Park  Street,  - —  a  vista  indeed.  The  great  hall,  rising  to  the  top  of  the 
house,  is  gorgeous  with  decoration,  and  of  immense  size.  The  apart¬ 
ments  and  the  interminable  corridors  are  filled  with  master-pieces  of  art, 
painting  and  sculpture.  In  every  room  you  are  surrounded  with  the 
most  beautiful  objects  of  virtu,  —  tables  of  porphyry  and  Oriental  alabas¬ 
ter,  vases  of  the  most  elegant  and  capricious  forms,  &c.  The  rooms  are 
generally  not  large,  but  very  lofty  and  richly  gilt  and  carved,  and  many 
of  them  hung  with  old  Gobelins  tapestry.  Critics  find  much  fault  with 
the  building  itself,  as  overloaded  with  ornament.  It  was  built  by  Van 
brugh,  who  built  Blenheim,  —  both  in  the  same  ornamental  style. 

Nothing  could  be  more  cordial  than  the  reception  I  met  with.  Lady 
Carlisle  reminds  me  so  of  mother  ;  so  full  of  kindness.  If  you  could 
see  the,  not  attention,  but  affection,  which  all  the  family  show  me,  it 
would  go  to  your  heart.  I  spoke  yesterday  of  writing  to  my  late  charm¬ 
ing  hostess,  the  Duchess  of  Argyll,  and  the  kind  old  lady  insisted  on 
being  my  secretary  instead  of  William.  So  I  went  into  her  dressing-room, 
and  we  concocted  half  a  dozen  pages,  which  she  wrote  off,  at  my  dicta¬ 
tion,  as  rapidly,  and  with  as  pretty  a  hand,  as  her  granddaughter.  We 
found  only  some  of  the  family  here ;  Lady  Dover,  the  widow  of  Lord 
Dover  and  sister  of  Lord  Carlisle,  and  her  two  daughters.  Last  evening 
we  had  another  arrival,  the  splendid  Duchess  of  Sutherland  among 
others,  and  William’s  friend,  young  Lord  Duflerin.  I  drove  over  with 
Lady  Mary  in  the  pony  phaeton  to  the  station.  Some  went  on  horseback, 
and  two  showy  barouches,  with  four  horses  each,  one  of  bays,  the  other 
grays,  with  young  postilions  in  burnished  liveries.  It  was  a  brilliant  show 
as  we  all  came  merrily  over  the  park,  and  at  full  gallop  through  the  villa¬ 
ges  in  the  neighborhood. 

All  now  is  bustle  and  preparation  for  the  royal  visit,  which  is  to  come 
off  on  Tuesday,  the  27th,  —  to  take  up  two  days.  The  Queen  and 
Prince,  with  four  children,  and  five  and  twenty  in  their  suite,  chiefly 
domestics.  Lord  Carlisle’s  family,  brothers  and  sisters,  and  sons  and 
daughters,  will  muster  over  twenty.  So  that  he  has  really  not  asked 
another,  besides  Will  and  myself,  except  those  in  attendance  on  the 
Queen.  He  has  put  off  having  my  portrait  engraved  till  after  these  festivi¬ 
ties,  and  has  actually  had  it  brought  down  here,  where  he  has  hung  it  up 
beside  the  Prince’s  and  the  Queen’s,  for  her  Majesty  to  look  at.  This  is 
a  sample  of  all  the  rest,  and  I  suppose  you  won’t  think  me  a  ninny  for 
telling  you  of  it. 

The  dining-room  will  be  such  as  the  Queen  cannot  boast  of  in  Buck¬ 
ingham  Palace.  It  is  to  be  the  centre  of  the  famous  Picture  Gallery  one 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  long.  This  centre  is  an  octagon  of  great  height, 
and  a  table  has  been  made,  of  hexagon  shape,  twenty  feet  across  each 
way.  It  is  to  hold  thirty-six,  the  number  of  guests  and  residents  of 
the  Castle.  On  one  of  the  days  a  lunch  for  double  the  number  will  be 
spread,  and  people  invited,  when  two  long  ends  are  to  be  added  to  the 
table,  running  up  the  gallery.  You  may  imagine  the  show  in  this  splen¬ 
did  apartment,  one  side  of  which  is  ornamented  with  statues,  and  with 
the  costliest  pictures  of  the  Orleans  Collection  ;  the  other,  with  a  noble 
14 


314 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


library  in  rich  bindings ;  the  windows  opening  on  a  velvet  lawn  and  a 
silver  sheet  of  water.  But  this  will  not  be  seen  at  the  dinner  hour  of 
eight.  The  centre  of  the  table  will  be  occupied  with  candelabra,  pyramids 
of  lights  and  flowers,  and  we  shall  all  be  able  to  see  the  way  in  which 
her  gracious  Majesty  deports  herself.  But  I  believe  I  must  wind  up  my 
yarn,  and  spin  some  for  somebody  else. 

I  must  tell  you  of  one  of  my  accomplishments.  Last  night  we  played 
billiards  ;  —  the  game  of  pool,  a  number  of  gentlemen  and  ladies.  Each 
person  has  three  lives.  All  had  lost  their  lives  but  Lord  Duflerin  and 
myself.  He  had  three  and  I  had  only  one.  The  pool  of  sixpences  would 
go  to  the  victor.  There  was  a  great  sensation,  as  he,  being  a  capital 
player,  had  deprived  many  of  their  lives;  that  is,  pocketed  their  balls.  T 
struck  him  into  a  pocket,  which  cost  him  one  life,  —  a  general  shout,  — 
the  whole  house  was  there.  He  missed  his  stroke  and  pocketed  himself  ; 
thus  he  lost  two  lives  and  we  were  equal.  The  stir  was  great, — all  shout¬ 
ing,  as  I  played,  “  Hit  him  there,  you  can’t  fail !  kill  him!  ”  &c.,  &c.  We 
fought  round  and  round  the  table  and  he  took  off  his  coat.  So  did  not  I, 
but  buttoned  up  mine.  As  he  missed  a  hazard  and  left  his  ball  exposed, 
the  silence  was  breathless.  I  struck  him  into  the  pocket  amidst  a  shout 
that  made  the  castle  ring  again.  It  was  just  twelve  o’clock  when  I 
retired  with  my  laurels  and  sixpences.  Will,  who  is  an  excellent  player, 
missed  fire  on  this  occasion,  and  I,  who  am  a  poor  one,  had  ali  his  luck. 

I  have  taken  my  passage,  and  paid  for  it,  on  board  the  Niagara,  the 
same  vessel  I  came  out  in,  for  September  14th,  a  week  later  than  I 
intended.  But  I  found  I  should  be  too  much  hurried  by  the  7th.  This 
will  give  me  three  weeks  in  old  Pepperell.  But  it  will  take  me  via  New 
York.  I  shall  write  to  you  once  more.  Love  to  mother  and  Lizzie.  I 
shall  write  E.  Dexter  by  this.  Don’t  forget  me  also  to  the  Ticknors  and 
other  old  friends,  aud  believe  me,  dearest  wife, 

Your  ever-loving  husband, 

W.  H.  P. 


August  26th.  —  Having  nothing  else  to  do,  as  there  is  just  now  a 
general  lull  in  the  breeze  and  I  have  some  leisure,  I  will  go  on  with  my 
domestic  chat.  I  left  olf,  —  let  me  see,  —  Sunday.  In  the  evening  we 
had  little  games,  &c.,  of  conversation,  as  at  Peppered.  But  the  chief 
business  was  lighting  up  the  splendid  pictures  so  as  to  see  the  best  effect ; 
arranging  the  lights,  &c.  Beautiful  pictures  by  any  light.  Before  retiring 
we  heard  prayers  in  the  noble  had ;  ad  the  household,  including  a  large 
troop  of  domestics.  The  effect  in  this  gorgeous  room,  as  large  and  as 
richly  ornamented  as  an  Italian  church,  was  very  fine.  Yesterday,  the 
weather  fair,  we  drove  over  the  park.  First  I  went  with  Lady  Mary, 
who  whipped  me  along  iu  her  pony-carriage.  After  lunch  I  and  Will 
went  with  Lady  Caroline  Luscelles  and  Captain  Howard  in  a  barouche  and 
four,  postilions  and  outriders  all  in  gay  liveries,  spotless  white  leather 
pantaloons,  and  blue  and  silver  coats  and  hats.  We  dashed  along  over 
the  green  sod,  always  in  the  park,  startling  the  deer,  and  driving  ofteD 
into  the  heart  of  the  woods,  which  are  numerous  in  this  fine  park.  We 
ad  prayed  for  as  line  a  day  for  the  morrow  for  the  royal  advent.  The 
house  looks  magnificently  in  the  sunshine,  as  you  drive  up  to  it  1 


LETTER  TO  MRS.  PRESCOTT. 


JJ15 


Alas !  it  is  always  so  in  this  country,  the  morrow  has  come,  and  a 
drenching  rain,  mortifying  to  all  loyal  subjects,  and  a  great  pity.  A  great 
awning  has  been  raised  for  the  Queen  over  the  steps  of  the  principal 
entrance.  It  is  now  five  o’clock.  In  an  hour  the  royal  cortege  will  be 
here.  There  has  been  such  a  fuss  all  day.  Everybody  has  been  running 
about  arranging  and  deranging,  —  some  carrying  chairs,  some  flower-pots, 
some  pictures,  some  vases,  &c.,  &c.  Such  a  scampering  !  I  help  on  with 
a  kind  word,  and  encourage  the  others,  and  especially  comfort  my  kind 
host  with  assurances  of  the  weather  changing  !  Gas  has  been  conducted 
into  the  great  dome  over  the  hall,  and  “  God  save  the  Queen  ”  blazes  out 
in  liery  characters  that  illuminate  the  whole  building. 

Such  a  quantity  of  fine  things,  beautiful  flowers  and  fruits,  have  arrived 
to-day  from  the  Duchess  of  Sutherland’s  place  at  Trentham,  and  from 
the  Duke  of  Devonshire’s  at  Cliatsworth  !  The  Duke  is  brother  to  Lady 
Carlisle.  A  large  hand  will  play  during  dinner  at  one  end  of  the  long 
gallery,  and  the  Duke  of  Devonshire  has  sent  his  band  for  music  in  the 
evening.  We  had  our  partners  and  places  at  table  assigned  us  this  morn¬ 
ing.  There  will  be  eight  or  ten  more  men  than  women,  thirty-six  in  all. 
I  go  in  with  Lady  Caroline  Lascelles,  and  sit  next  to  Sir  George  Grey, 
the  Cabinet  Minister,  —  who  accompanies  the  Queen,  —  next  the  Duchess 
of  Sutherland,  and  next  Lord  Carlisle  and  the  Queen.  So  you  see  I  shall 
be  very  near  her  Majesty,  and,  as  the  table  is  circular,  I  could  not  be 
better  placed,  — another  instance  of  the  kindness  with  wliich  I  have  been 
treated. 

A  quantity  of  policemen  have  arrived  on  the  ground  before  the  house, 
as  the  royal  train  will  be  greeted  by  all  the  loyal  people  in  the  neighbor¬ 
hood,  and  a  body  of  military  are  encamped  near  the  house  to  keep  order. 
There  is  such  a  turn-out  of  coaches  and  four,  with  gay  liveries  and  all. 
Plague  on  the  weather !  But  it  only  drizzles  now.  The  landscape, 
however,  looks  dull,  and  wants  the  lights  to  give  it  effect. 

August  28th,  Wednesday.  —  I  have  a  little  time  to  write  before 
luncheon,  and  must  send  off  the  letter  then  to  London  to  be  copied. 
Received  yours  this  morning,  complaining  I  had  not  written  by  the  last. 
You  have  got  the  explanation  of  it  since.  To  resume.  The  Queen,  &c., 
arrived  yesterday  in  a  pelting  rain,  with  an  escort  of  cavalry,  —  a  pretty 
sight  to  those  under  cover.  Crowds  of  loyal  subjects  were  in  the  park  in 
front  of  the  house  to  greet  her.  They  must  have  come  miles  in  the  rain. 
She  came  into  the  hall  in  a  plain  travelling-dress,  bowing  very  gracefully 
to  all  there,  and  then  to  her  apartments,  which  occupy  the  front  of  the 
building.  At  eight  we  went  to  dinner,  all  in  full  dress,  but  mourning  for 
the  Duke  of  Cambridge  ;  I,  of  course,  for  President  Taylor  !  All  wore 
breeches  or  tight  pantaloons.  It  was  a  brilliant  show,  I  assure  you,  — 
that  immense  table,  with  its  fruits  and  flowers,  and  lights  glancing  over 
beautiful  plate,  and  in  that  superb  gallery.  I  was  as  near  the  Queen  as 
at  our  own  family  table.  She  has  a  good  appetite,  and  laughs  merrily. 
She  has  fine  eyes  and  teeth,  but  is  short.  She  was  dressed  in  black  silk 
and  lace,  with  the  blue  scarf  of  the  Order  of  the  Garter  across  her  bosom. 
Her  only  ornaments  were  of  jet.  The  Prince,  who  is  certainly  a  hand¬ 
some  and  very  well-made  man,  wore  the  Garter  with  its  brilliant  buckle 
round  his  knee,  a  showy  star  on  his  breast,  and  the  collar  of  a  foreign 


316 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PKESCOTT. 


order  round  his  neck.  Dinner  went  off  very  well,  except  that  we  had  no 
music;  a  tribute  to  Louis-Philippe  at  the  Queen’s  request, — too  bad!4 
We  drank  the  royal  healths  with  prodigious  enthusiasm. 

After  the  ladies  retired,  the  Prince  and  the  other  gentlemen  remained 
half  an  hour,  as  usual.  In  the  evening  we  listened  to  some  fine  music, 
and  the  Queen  examined  the  pictures.  Odd  enough  the  etiquette.  Lady 
Carlisle,  who  did  the  honors  like  a  high-bred  lady  as  she  is,  and  the 
Duchess  of  Sutherland,  were  the  only  ladies  who  talked  with  her  Majesty. 
Lord  Carlisle,  her  host,  was  the  only  gentleman  who  did  so,  unless  she 
addressed  a  person  herself.  No  one  can  sit  a  moment  when  she  chooses 
to  stand.  She  did  me  the  honor  to  come  and  talk  with  me,  — asking  me 
about  my  coming  here,  my  stay  in  the  Castle,  what  I  was  doing  now  in 
the  historic  way,  how  Everett  was,  and  where  he  was,  —  for  ten  minutes 
or  so ;  and  Prince  Albert  afterwards  a  long  while,  talking  about  the  houses 
and  ruins  in  England,  and  the  churches  in  Belgium,  and  the  pictures  in 
the  room,  and  I  don’t  know  what.  I  found  myself  now  and  then  trenching 
on  the  rules  by  interrupting,  &c. ;  but  1  contrived  to  make  it  up  by  a 
respectful  “  Your  Loyal  Highness,”  “  Your  Majesty,”  &c.  I  told  the 
Queen  of  the  pleasure  I  had  in  finding  myself  in  a  laud  of  friends  instead 
of  foreigners,  —  a  sort  of  stereotype  with  me,  —  and  of  my  particular  good 
fortune  in  being  under  the  roof  with  her.  She  is  certainly  very  much  of  a 
lady  in  her  manner,  with  a  sweet  voice. 

The  house  is  filled  with  officials,  domestics,  &c.  Over  two  hundred 
slept  here  last  night.  The  grounds  all  round  the  house,  as  I  write,  are 
thronged  with  thousands  of  men  and  women,  dressed  in  their  best,  from 
the  adjacent  parts  of  the  country.  You  cannot  stir  out  without  seeing  a 
line  of  heads  through  the  iron  railing  or  before  the  court-yard.  I  was 
walking  in  the  garden  this  morning  (did  I  tell  you  that  it  is  a  glorious 
dav,  luckily  ? )  with  the  Marchioness  of  Douro,  who  was  dressed  in  full 
mourning  as  a  lady  in  waiting,  when  the  crowd  set  up  such  a  shout !  as 
they  took  her  for  the  Queen.  But  I  must  close.  God  bless  you,  dear ! 

William  H.  Prescott. 

TO  MRS.  PRESCOTT. 

London,  Sept.  6,  1850. 

Deadest  Wife, 

1  send  you  a  few  lines,  my  last  from  England,  to  bring  up  my  history 
to  as  late  a  date  as  possible.  I  told  you  of  the  royal  festivities  at  Castle 
Howard,  and  you  will  get  still  more  particulars  from  the  account  in  the 
“  Illustrated  News,”  which  I  hope  you  have  provided  yourself  with.  The 
Queen  went  oft'  in  royal  state.  In  the  evening  after  came  off  the  ball,  at 

2  Louis-Philippe  died  at  Clermont,  Monday,  August  26th,  1850,  and,  as  the 
Queen  was  on  her  way  the  next  day  to  Castle  Howard,  the  train  was  stopped, 
when  passing  near  Clermont,  long  enough  for  Prince  Albert  to  make  a  visit 
of  condolence  to  the  ex-Queen.  With  all  this  fresh  in  their  recollection,  it 
was,  I  suppose,  regarded  as  a  considerate  and  graceful  tribute  to  the  affliction 
of  the  French  family  to  request  that  festive  music  might  be  omitted  at  tba 
ttmner. 


LETTERS  TO  MRS.  PRESCOTT. 


317 


which  I  danced  three  quadrilles  and  two  country-dances,  —  the  kst  two 
with  the  Duchess  of  Sutherland,  —  and  it  was  four  in  the  morning,  when 
we  wound  up  with  the  brave  old  dance  of  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley.  I  spent 
a  day  longer  at  Castle  Howard,  driving  about  with  Lady  Mary  Howard 
in  her  pony  phaeton  over  the  park  to  see  her  village  pensioners.  When  I 
left  early  the  next  day,  we  had  an  affectionate  leave-taking  enough ;  I 
mean  all  of  us  together,  and  as  I  know  it  will  please  you  to  see  how  much 
heart  the  family  have  shown  to  me,  I  will  enclose  a  note  I  received  at 
Trentham  from  old  Lady  Carlisle,  and  another  from  her  granddaughter 
the  Duchess  of  Argyll.  We  all  parted  at  the  railway  station,  and  I  shall 
never  see  them  more  ! 

From  Castle  Howard  we  proceeded  to  Trentham  in  Staffordshire,  the 
Duchess  of  Sutherland’s  favorite  seat,  and  a  splendid  place  it  is.  We 
met  her  at  Derby,  she  having  set  out  the  day  before  us.  We  both  arrived 
too  late  for  the  train.  So  she  put  post-horses  to  her  barouche,  and  she 
and  Lady  Constance,  a  blooming  English  girl  looking  quite  like  Lizzie, 
and  Will  and  I,  posted  it  for  thirty-six  miles,  reaching  Trentham  at  ten 
in  the  evening,  —  an  open  barouche  and  cool  enough.  But  we  took  it 
merrily,  as  indeed  we  should  not  have  got  on  at  all  that  night,  if  we  had 
not  had  the  good  luck  to  fall  in  with  her  Grace. 

Trentham  is  a  beautiful  place  ;  the  grounds  laid  out  in  the  Italian  style 
for  an  immense  extent;  the  gardens  with  plots  of  flowers  so  curiously 
arranged  that  it  looks  like  a  fine  painting,  with  a  little  lake  studded  with 
islands  at  the  end,  and  this  enclosed  by  hills  dark  with  forest-trees. 
Besides  these  noble  gardens,  through  which  the  Trent  flows  in  a  smooth 
current,  there  is  an  extensive  park,  and  the  deer  came  under  my  windows 
in  the  morning  as  tame  as  pet  lambs.  The  Duchess  spent  the  former 
part  of  the  afternoon  in  taking  us  round  herself  to  all  the  different  places, 
walking  and  sometimes  boating  it  on  the  Trent ;  for  they  extend  over  a 
great  space.  The  green-houses,  &c.  are  superb,  and  filled  with  exquisite 
flowers  and  fruit:  and  the  drawing-rooms,  of  which  there  is  a  suite  of  ten 
or  twelve,  very  large,  open  on  a  magnificent  conservatory,  with  marble 
floors,  fountains,  and  a  roof  of  glass,  about  five  times  as  big  as  Mrs. 
R.’s,  tell  E.  The  rooms  are  filled  with  the  choicest  and  most  delicate 
works  of  art,  painting,  sculpture,  bijouterie  of  all  kinds.  It  is  the  temple 
of  Taste,  and  its  charming  mistress  created  it  all.  As  I  was  coming 
away,  she  asked  me  to  walk  'with  her  into  the  garden,  and  led  me  to  a 
spot  where  several  men  were  at  work  having  a  great  hole  prepared.  A 
large  evergreen  tree  was  held  up  by  the  gardener,  and  1  was  requested  to 
help  set  it  in  the  place  and  to  throw  some  shovelfuls  of  earth  on  it.  In 
fact,  I  was  to  leave  an  evergreen  memorial,  “  which,”  said  she,  “  my 
children  shall  see  hereafter,  and  know  by  whom  it  was  planted.”  She 
chose  to  accompany  us  to  the  station,  and  by  the  way  took  us  to  the  great 
porcelain  manufactory  of  Stoke,  where  she  gave  Will  a  statuette  of  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  very  pretty,  and  me  an  exquisite  little  vase,  which  yon 
will  be  so  happy  as  to  take  care  of  under  a  glass  cover.  Her  own  rooms 
contain  some  beautiful  specimens  of  them.  Is  she  not  a  Duchess  t  She 
is,  every  inch  of  her ;  and  what  is  better,  a  most  warm-hearted,  affection¬ 
ate  person,  like  all  the  rest  of  the  generous  race  of  Howard.  They 
always  seem  employed  on  something.  The  Duchess  of  Argyll,  I  remem* 


318 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


ber,  was  never  unemployed,  —  reading,  or  working,  or  drawing,  which 
she  docs  uncommonly  well.  The  tenderness  of  the  mother  and  daughter 
for  each  other  is  pleasing  enough.  We  came  to  he  present  at  the  christen¬ 
ing  of  the  hope  of  the  family,  —  Lord  Stafford’s  first-born  son.  It  took 
place  in  the  church,  which  is  attached  to  a  wing  of  the  mansion.  The 
family  occupied  a  gallery  at  the  end  of  the  chapel,  and  the  ceremony  was 
witnessed  by  all  the  village. 

I  had  intended  to  go  to  Lord  Ellesmere’s,  agreeably  to  a  general  invita¬ 
tion,  but  found  that  Lord  and  Lady  Ellesmere  were  in  Ireland,  called  there 
by  the  illness  of  a  daughter.  So  we  went  to  Chatsworth,  the  famous  seat 
of  the  Duke  of  Devonshire.  He  is  absent,  but  had  written  to  the  house¬ 
keeper  to  show  us  all  the  place,  to  have  the  fountains  play,  —  one  of 
which  springs  up  two  hundred  feet  or  more,  —  and  to  prepare  lunch  for 
me.  I  found  the  servants  prepared  to  receive  us,  and  we  passed  several 
hours  at  his  magnificent  place,  and  fared  as  well  as  if  its  noble  proprietor 
had  been  on  the  spot  to  welcome  us.  I  shall,  after  a  day  here,  go  to 
Lady  Theresa  Lewis,  at  Lord  Clarendon’s  place,  then  to  Baron  Parke’s, 
Ampthill,  for  a  day  or  two  ;  then  to  the  Marquis  of  Lansdowne’s,8  and 
then  huzza  for  home !  Pray  for  the  good  steamer  Niagara ;  a  good 
6teamer,  and  a  good  captain,  and  I  trust  a  good  voyage. 

Sept.  9th.  —  Just  received  yours  and  E.’s  charming  letters  ;  — alas  !  by 
my  blunder  (the  last?)  I  was  startled  by  mother’s  illness.  Thank  God 
all  is  right  again.  I  could  not  afford  to  have  anything  happen  to  her 
while  I  am  away. 

Your  affectionate  husband, 

Wat.  H.  Prescott. 

And  so  ended,  in  unbroken  enjoyment,  the  most  brilliant 
visit  ever  made  to  England  by  an  American  citizen  not  clothed 
with  the  prestige  of  official  station.4  That  Mr.  Prescott  deeply 

8  The  visit  to  Lord  Lansdowne’s  failed;  but  before  he  reached  London  he 
made  a  most  agreeable  one  at  Baron  Parke’s,  now  Lord  Wensleydale. 

4  A  whimsical  proof  that  Mr.  Prescott  was  a  lion  in  London  during  his  visit 
there  may  be  found  in  the  following  note  of  the  venerable  Miss  Berry, — 
Horace  Walpole’s  Miss  Berry, —  with  whom  Dean  Milman  had  invited  Mr. 
Prescott  and  himself  to  dine,  but,  owing  to  Mr.  P.’s  engagements,  he  had 
been  obliged  to  offer  their  visit  above  a  fortnight  ahead  of  the  time  when  he 
proposed  it. 


MISS  BERRY  TO  THE  REV.  MR.  MILMAN. 

June  20, 1850. 

Having  insured  my  life  at  more  than  one  of  the  most  respectable  insur¬ 
ance-companies,  I  venture  to  accept  of  your  most  agreeable  proposal  for  next 
Saturday  fortnight!  and  shall  rejoice  to  see  you  and  Mrs.  Milman  accom¬ 
panied  by  one  whose  works  I  have  long  admired,  and  to  whose  pen  1  am 
indebted  for  some  of  the  liveliest  interests  and  the  most  agreeable  hours  that 
can  exist  for  an  octogenarian,  like  your  obliged  and  attached  friend, 

M.  Bebrt. 


VISIT  TO  ENGLAND. 


319 


ffelt  the  kindness  he  received  —  especially  that  of  the  Lyells, 
the  Milmans,  and  “all  the  blood  of  all  the  Howards”  —  is 
plain  from  his  letters,  written  in  the  confidence  and  simplicity 
of  family  affection.  How  much  of  this  kindness  is  to  be  at¬ 
tributed  to  his  personal  character  rather  than  to  his  reputation 
as  an  author,  it  is  not  easy  to  tell.  But,  whatever  portion  of 
it  resulted  from  the  intercourse  and  contact  of  society  ;  what¬ 
ever  was  won  by  his  sunny  smile  and  cordial,  unconstrained 
ways,  —  he  seemed  to  recognize  without  accurately  measuring 
it,  and  by  the  finer  instincts  of  his  nature  to  appreciate  it  as 
something  more  to  be  valued  and  desired,  than  any  tribute  of 
admiration  which  might  have  become  due  to  him  from  his 
works  before  he  was  personally  known. 

After  he  returned  home,  when  the  crowded  life  he  had  led 
for  three  or  four  months,  with  its  pleasures  and  excitements, 
was  seen  from  a  tranquil  distance,  he  summed  up  the  results  of 
his  visit  in  the  following  passage,  carefully  recorded  among  his 
Memoranda  at  the  end  of  October,  1850. 

On  the  whole,  what  I  have  seen  raises  my  preconceived  estimate  of  the 
English  character.  It  is  full  of  generous,  true,  and  manly  qualities  ;  and 
I  doubt  if  there  ever  was  so  high  a  standard  of  morality  in  an  aristocracy 
which  has  such  means  for  self-indulgence  at  its  command,  and  which  occu¬ 
pies  a  position  that  secures  it  so  much  deference.  In  general,  they  do  not 
seem  to  abuse  their  great  advantages.  The  respect  for  religion  —  at  least 
for  the  forms  of  it  — -  is  universal,  and  there  are  few,  I  imagine,  of  the 
great  proprietors  who  are  not  more  or  less  occupied  with  improving  their 
estates,  and  with  providing  for  the  comfort  of  their  tenantry,  while  many 
take  a  leading  part  in  the  great  political  movements  of  the  time.  There 
never  was  an  aristocracy  which  combined  so  much  practical  knowledge 
and  industry  with  the  advantages  of  exalted  rank. 

The  Englishman  is  seen  to  most  advantage  in  his  country  home.  For 
he  is  constitutionally  both  domestic  and  rural  in  his  habits.  His  fireside 
and  his  farm,  —  these  are  the  places  in  which  one  sees  his  simple  and 
warm-hearted  nature  most  freely  unfolded.  There  is  a  shyness  in  an 
Englishman,  —  a  natural  reserve,  —  which  makes  him  cold  to  strangers, 
and  difficult  of  approach.  But  once  corner  him  in  his  own  house,  a  frank 
and  full  expansion  will  be  given  to  his  feelings,  that  we  should  look  for  in 
vain  in  the  colder  Yankee,  and  a  depth  not  to  be  found  in  the  light  and 
superficial  Frenchman,  —  speaking  of  nationalities,  not  individualities. 

The  Englishman  is  the  most  truly  rural  in  his  tastes  and  habits  of  any 
people  in  the  world.  I  am  speaking  of  the  higher  classes.  The  aristoc¬ 
racy  of  other  countries  affect  the  camp  and  the  city.  But  the  English 
love  their  old  castles  and  country  seats  with  a  patriotic  love.  They  are 
fond  of  country  sports.  Every  man  shoots  or  hunts.  No  man  >s  too  old 


320 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


to  be  in  the  saddle  some  part  of  the  day,  and  men  of  seventy  years  and 

issHSSi 

Nimrod  With  all  his  relish  for  field  sports  and  country  usages  he  has 
S  “  out  ailed  with  collections  of  or.  end  un.h  “toS'S.  down' 

‘-^rrr 

ZZSGSSfA  £*•  *&—  -  <— » -*-1 

VaThye’re  are  other  defects  which  are  visible  even  in  his  most  favored  cir- 
cumstunces.  Such  is  hi.  btoujr,  “  bi  oX  »™ 

s^spisr^r,  irtzsz  M  ■«*•,? ,,is 
'““4tr““Sd 

r1t“.  sympufhy  f>. »  £*  “iSt*  “ff  SZ 

•J*“  \‘t!TSCrh“tr.ndT;iudthdt  ™t“»f  to  otcu.  With 

the  great  wot  .  .  shone _ if  one  may  use  the  expression 

sjssms-- rr™t”oh.o  «  -  *- 

more  for  the  great  interests  of  humanity. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 


1850-1852. 

Voyage  Home.  —  Letters  to  Friends  in  England.  —  Begins  to  woe* 
again.  —  Pepperell. —  “Philip  the  Second.”  —  Correspondence. 

ON  the  14th  of  September,  Mr.  Prescott  embarked  at 
Liverpool,  to  return  home,  on  board  the  Niagara,  —  the 
same  good  ship  on  which  he  had  embarked  for  Europe  nearly 
four  months  earlier  at  New  York,  and  in  which  he  now 
reached  that  metropolis  again,  after  a  fortunate  passage  of 
thirteen  days.  At  Liverpool  he  stopped,  as  he  did  on  his 
arrival  there,  at  the  hospitable  house  of  his  old  friend  Smith  ; 
and  the  last  letter  he  wrote  before  he  went  on  board  the 
steamer,  and  the  first  he  despatched  back  to  England,  after 
he  was  again  fairly  at  home,  were  to  Lady  Lyell,  with  whom 
and  Sir  Charles  he  had  probably  spent  more  hours  in  London 
than  with  anybody  else,  and  to  both  of  whom  he  owed  unnum¬ 
bered  acts  of  kindness. 

TO  LADY  LYELL. 

Liverpool,  September  13, 1850 

My  dear  Lady  Lyell, 

I  am  now  at  Liverpool,  or  rather  in  the  suburbs,  at  my  friend’s  house. 
It  is  after  midnight,  but  I  cannot  go  to  sleep  without  bidding  you  and 
your  husband  one  more  adieu.  I  reached  here  about  five  o’clock,  and 
find  there  are  seventy  passengers  ;  several  ladies,  or  persons  that  I  hope 
are  so,  for  they  are  not  men.  But  I  look  for  little  comfort  on  the  restless 
deep.  I  hope,  however,  for  a  fair  offing.  You  will  think  of  me  some 
times  during  the  next  fortnight,  and  how  often  shall  I  think  of  you,  and 
your  constant  kindness  to  me !  You  see  I  am  never  tired  of  asking  foi 
it,  as  I  sent  you  the  troublesome  commission  of  paying  my  debts  before  ) 
left,  and,  I  believe,  did  not  send  quite  money  enough.  Heaven  bless  you  . 
With  kind  remembrances  to  Sir  Charles,  believe  me,  my  dear  friend, 
Most  affectionately  yours, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 

Can  you  make  out  my  hieroglyphics  ? 1 

1  This  letter  was  written  with  his  noctc  graph. 

14*  U 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


Y22 


TO  LADY  LYELL. 


Boston,  September  30,  1860. 

Mr  dear  Ladt  Lyell, 

I  write  you  a  line  to  tell  you  of  my  safe  arrival  on  the  other  side  of  the 
treat  pond  —  I  beg  pardon  —  lake.  We  had  a  fair  passage,  considering 
the  season,  some  thumping  and  tumbling  about  and  constant  head-winds, 
but  no  very  heavy  gales,  such  as  fall  due  at  the  equinox.  I  was  lucky 
encugh  to  find  a  lady  on  board  who  was  not  sick,  and  who  was  willing  to 
read  aloud  ;  so  the  ennui  of  the  voyage  was  wonderfully  lightened  by  “  Van¬ 
ity  Fair”  and  Mr.  Cumming’s  lion-stories.  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  And 
all  well  on  returning,  and  the  atmosphere  was  lighted  up  with  a  sunny  light, 
such  as  I  never  saw  on  the  other  side  of  the  water,  at  least  during  my 
present  journey.  I  do  not  believe  it  will  be  as  good  for  my  eyes  as  the 
comfortable  neutral  tints  of  England,  —  merry  England,  not  from  its  c  1- 
mate,  however,  but  from  the  w'arm  hearts  of  its  people.  (EM  bless  them  . 
I  have  no  time  to  think  over  matters  now,  busy  in  the  midst  of  trunks  and 
portmanteaus,  some  emptying,  some  filling,  for  our  speedy  flight  to  rep- 
perell.  But  once  in  its  welcome  shades,  I  shall  have  much  to  thiuk  over, 

_ of  dear  friends  beyond  the  water.  Yesterday,  who  should  pop  in  upon 

me  but  Dr.  Holland,  fresh  from  Lake  Superior.  It  seemed  like  an  appa¬ 
rition  from  Brook  Street,  so  soon  and  sudden.  He  and  Everett  and 
Ticknor  will  dine  with  me  to-day,  and  we  shall  have  a  comfortable^ talk 
of  things  most  agreeable  to  us  all.  Dr.  H.  sails  in  the  “  Canada  to¬ 
morrow.  The  grass  does  not  grow  under  his  feet.  I  sent  Anna  Ticknor 
yesterday  the  beautiful  present,  all  in  good  order.  She  went  down  in  the 
afternoon  to  her  sea-nest,  and  her  husband  comes  up  to-day.  Possibly 
she  may  come  and  dine  with  us  too.  She  was  right  glad  to  see  me,  and 
had  a  thousand  questions  to  ask;  so  I  hope  she  will  come  and  get  answers 
to  some  of  them  to-day.  To-morrow  we  flit,  and  a  party  of  young  people 
go  along  with  us.  So  we  shall  not  bo  melancholy.  Adieu,  my  dear 
friend.  Pray  remember  me  most  kindly  to  your  husband  and  your  family. 
My  wife  joins  in  loving  remembrances  to  you,  and  desires  to  thank  you 
for  your  kind  note. 

Believe  me,  my  dear  Lady  Lyell,  here  and  everywhere, 

Affectionately  yours, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 

Give  my  love  to  the  Milmans,  when  they  return.  I  shall  write  them 
from  Pepperell. 


Very  soon  lie  wrote  to  Dean  Milman. 

Pepperell,  Mass.,  October  10,  1860. 

Mr  dear  Friend,  .  . 

I  have  at  length  reached  my  native  land,  and  am  again  in  my  country 
quarters,  wandering  over  my  old  familiar  hills,  and  watching  the  brilliant 
changes  of  the  leaf  in  the  forests  of  October,  the  finest  of  the  American 
months.  This  rural  quiet  is  very  favorable  for  calling  up  the  past,  and 
many  a  friendly  face  on  the  other  side  of  the  water  comes  up  before  me, 
and  none  more  frequently  than  yours  and  that  of  your  dear  wife. 


LETTER  TO  DEAN  MILMAN. 


323 


Since  I  parted  from  you,  I  have  been  tolerably  industrious.  I  first 
passed  a  week  in  Belgium,  to  get  some  acquaintance  with  the  topography 
of  the  country  I  am  to  describe.  It  is  a  wonderful  country  certainly,  — ■ 
rich  in  its  present  abundance  as  well  as  in  its  beautiful  monuments  of  art 
and  its  historic  recollections.  On  my  return  to  England,  I  went  at  once 
into  the  country,  and  spent  six  weeks  at  different  places,  where  I  saw 
English  life  under  a  totally  new  aspect.  The  country  is  certainly  the 
true  place  in  which  to  see  the  Englishman.  It  is  there  that  his  peculiar 
character  seems  to  have  the  best  field  for  its  expansion  ;  a  life  which  calls 
out  his  energies  physical  as  well  as  mental,  the  one  almost  as  remarkable 
as  the  other. 

The  country  life  affords  the  opportunity  for  intimacy,  which  it  is  very 
difficult  to  have  in  London.  There  is  a  depth  in  the  English  character, 
and  at  the  same  time  a  constitutional  reserve,  sometimes  amounting  to 
shyness,  which  it  requires  some  degree  of  intimacy  to  penetrate.  As  to 
the  hospitality,  it  is  quite  equal  to  what  we  read  of  in  semi-civilized 
countries,  where  the  presence  of  a  stranger  is  a  boon  instead  of  a  burden. 
I  could  have  continued  to  live  in  this  agreeable  way  of  life  till  the  next 
meeting  of  Parliament,  if  I  could  have  settled  it  with  my  conscience  to  do 
so.  As  to  the  houses,  I  think  I  saw  some  of  the  best  places  in  England, 
in  the  North  and  in  the  South,  with  a  very  interesting  dip  into  the  High¬ 
lands,  and  I  trust  I  have  left  some  friends  there  that  will  not  let  the  memory 
of  me  pass  away  like  a  summer  cloud.  In  particular,  I  have  learned  te 
comprehend  what  is  meant  by  “the  blood  of  the  Howards,”  — a  family  in 
all  its  extent,  as  far  as  I  have  seen  it,  as  noble  in  nature  as  in  birth.  ..... 

I  had  a  pretty  good,  passage  on  my  return,  considering  that  it  was  the 
season  of  equinoctial  tempests.  I  was  fortunate  in  finding  that  no  trouble 
or  sorrow  had  come  into  the  domestic  circle  since,  my  departure,  and  mj 
friends  were  pleased  to  find  that  I  had  brought  home  substantial  proofs  of 
English  hospitality  in  the  addition  of  some  ten  pounds'  weight  to  mj 
mortal  part.  By  the  by,  Lord  Carlisle  told  the  Queen  that  I  said,  “  In¬ 
stead  of  John  Bull,  the  Englishman  should  be  called  John  Mutton,  for 
he  ate  beef  only  one  day  in  the  week,  and  mutton  the  other  six  ”  ;  at 
which  her  Majesty,  who,  strange  to  say,  never  eats  mutton  herself,  was 
pleased  to  laugh  most  graciously. 

The  day  after  I  reached  Boston  I  was  surprised  by  the  apparition  of  my 
old  neighbor,  Dr.  Holland,  just  returned  from  an  excursion  to  Lake  Supe¬ 
rior.  It  was  as  if  a  piece  of  Brook  Street  had  parted  from  its  moorings, 
and  crossed  the  water.  We  were  in  a  transition  state,  just  flitting  to  the 
country,  but  I  managed  to  have  him,  Everett,  and  Ticknor  dine  with  me. 
So  we  had  a  pleasant  partie  carrte  to  talk  over  our  friends,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  salt  lake.  What  would  I  not  give  to  have  you  and  Mrs.  Mil- 
man  on  this  side  of  it.  Perhaps  you  may  have  leisure  and  curiosity  some 
day,  when  the  passage  is  reduced  to  a  week,  as  it  will  be,  to  see  the  way 
of  life  of  the  American  aborigines.  If  you  do  not,  you  will  still  be  here 
in  the  heart  of  one  who  can  never  forget  the  kindness  and  love  he  has 
experienced  from  you  in  a  distant  land. 

Pray  remember  me  most  affectionately  to  Mrs,  Milman,  to  whom  I 
shall  soon  write,  and  believe  me,  my  dear  friend, 

Very  sincerely  yours, 


W.  H.  Pkkscqit 


324 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  TRESCOTT. 


He  found  it  somewhat  difficult  to  settle  down  into  regular 
habits  of  industry  after  his  return  home.  But  he  did  it.  His 
first  weeks  were  spent  at  Pepperell,  where  I  recollect  that  I 
passed  two  or  three  merry  days  with  him,  when  our  common 
friend,  Mr.  Edward  Twisleton,  who  had  been  very  kind  to  him 
in  England,  made  him  a  visit,  and  when  the  country  was  in  all 
the  gorgeous  livery  of  a  New  England  autumn. 

The  subsequent  winter,  1850-51,  was  spent  as  usual,  in 
Boston.  But  his  eyes  were  in  a  bad  state,  and  his  interrup¬ 
tions  so  frequent,  that  he  found  it  impossible  to  secure  as  many 
hours  every  day  for  work  as  he  desired.  He  therefore  was 
not  satisfied  with  the  results  he  obtained,  and  complained,  as 
he  often  did,  somewhat  unreasonably,  of  the  ill  effects  of  a 
town  life.  Indeed,  it  was  not  until  he  made  his  villeggiatura 
at  Pepperell,  in  the  autumn  of  1851,  that  he  was  content  with 
himself  and  with  what  he  was  doing. 

But  from  this  time  he  worked  in  earnest.  He  made  good 
resolutions  and  kept  them  with  more  exactness  than  he  had 
commonly  done ;  so  that,  by  the  middle  of  April,  1852,  he  had 
completed  the  first  volume  of  his  “  Philip  the  Second,”  and  was 
plunging  with  spirit  into  the  second.  I  remember  very  well 
how  heartily  lie  enjoyed  this  period  of  uncommon  activity. 

It  was  at  this  time,  and  I  think  partly  from  the  effect  of  his 
visit  to  England,  that  he  changed  his  purpose  concerning  the 
character  lie  should  give  to  his  “  History  of  Philip  the  Sec¬ 
ond.”  When  he  left  home  he  was  quite  decided  that  the  work 
should  be  Memoirs.  Soon  after  his  return  he  began  to  talk  to 
me  doubtfully  about  it.  His  health  was  better,  his  courage 
higher.  But  lie  was  always  slow  in  making  up  his  mind.  Ho 
therefore  went  on  some  months  longer,  still  really  undeter¬ 
mined,  and  writing  rather  memoirs  than  history.  At  last, 
when  he  was  finishing  the  first  volume,  and  came  to  confront 
the  great  subject  of  the  Rebellion  of  the  Netherlands,  he  per¬ 
ceived  clearly  that  the  gravest  form  of  history  ought  to  be 
adopted. 

“  For  some  time  after  I  had  finished  the  '  Peru,’  ”  he  says,  “  I  hesi¬ 
tated  whether  I  should  grapple  with  the  whole  subject  of  Philip  inejdenso, 
and  when  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  serve  up  the  whole  barbecue,  instead 
of  particular  parts  of  it,  I  had  so  little  confidence  in  the  strength  of  my 


LETTER  TO  MR.  FORD. 


325 


own  ■vision,  that  I  thought  of  calling  the  work  <  Memoirs  ’  and  treating 
the  subject  in  a  more  desultory  and  superficial  manner  than  belongs  to 
regular  history.  I  did  not  go  to  work  in  a  business-like  style  until  I 
broke  ground  on  the  troubles  of  the  Netherlands.  Perhaps  my  critics 
may  find  this  out.” 

I  think  they  did  not.  Indeed,  there  was  less  occasion  for 
it  than  the  author  himself  supposed.  The  earlier  portions  of 
the  history,  relating  as  they  do  to  the  abdication  of  Charles  V. 
and  the  marriage  of  Philip  with  Mary  of  England,  fell  natu¬ 
rally  into  the  tone  of  memoirs,  and  thus  they  make  a  more 
graceful  vestibule  to  the  grand  and  grave  events  that  were 
to  follow  than  could  otherwise  have  been  arranged  for  them, 
while,  at  the  same  time,  as  he  advanced  into  the  body  of  his 
work  and  was  called  on  to  account  for  the  war  with  France, 
and  describe  the  battles  of  St.  Quentin  and  Gravelines,  he,  as 
it  were,  inevitably  fell  into  the  more  serious  tone  of  liistory, 
which  had  been  so  long  familiar  to  him.  The  transition,  there¬ 
fore,  was  easy,  and  was  besides  so  appropriate,  that  I  think  a 
change  of  purpose  was  hardly  detected.  One  effect  of  it,  how¬ 
ever,  was  soon  perceptible  to  himself.  He  liked  his  work 
better,  and  carried  it  on  with  the  sort  of  interest  which  he 
always  felt  was  important,  not  only  to  his  happiness,  but  to  his 
success. 

From  this  time  forward  —  that  is,  from  the  period  of  his 
return  home  —  his  correspondence  becomes  more  abundant. 
This  was  natural,  and  indeed  inevitable.  He  had  made  ac¬ 
quaintances  and  friendships  in  England,  which  led  to  such 
intercourse,  and  the  letters  that  followed  from  it  show  the 
remainder  of  his  life  in  a  light  clearer  and  more  agreeable 
than  it  can  be  shown  in  any  other  way.  Little  remains, 
therefore,  but  to  arrange  them  in  their  proper  sequence. 

TO  ME.  PORD. 

Pepperell,  Mass.,  U.  S.,  OctoDer  12,  1850. 

Here  I  am,  my  dear  Ford,  safe  and  sound  in  my  old  country  quarters,  with 
leisure  to  speak  a  word  or  two  to  a  friend  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic. 
I  had  a  voyage  of  thirteen  days,  and  pretty  good  weather  for  the  most 
part,  considering  it  was  the  month  when  I  had  a  right  to  expect  to  be 
tumbled  about  rudely  by  the  equinoctial  gales.  We  had  some  rough 
g-ales,  and  my  own  company  were  too  much  damaged  to  do  much  for  me. 


32G 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT 


But  an  "el  woman,  God  bless  her!  always  comes  when  she  is  wonted,  - 
and  sometimes  when  she  is  not,  —  and  I  found  one  in  a  pretty  little  Yan¬ 
kee  ladv,  who  had  the  twofold  qualifications  ot  being  salt-water-pioof,  and 
of  bein'"  a  good  reader.  So,  thanks  to  her,  I  travelled  through  “  Vanity 
Fair”  for  the  second  time,  and  through  Cummings  African  exploits, 
quite  new  to  me.  And  so  killing  his  lions  helped  me  to  kill  my  time 
the  worst  enemy  of  the  two.  It  was  with  a  light  heart,  however,  that  I 
descried  the  gray  rocks  of  my  native  land  again. 

I  am  now  about  fortv  miles  from  town,  on  my  old  family  acres,  which 
do  not  go  back  to  the  time  of  the  Norman  conquest,  though  they  do  to 
that  of  the  Aborigines,  which  is  antiquity  for  a  country  wheie  there  are 
;,o“  J  ttafsou  sulilom  A.  «nds,  ,l„  of  .he  nee*  . h» 

father  planted.  It  is  a  plain  New  England  farm,  but  I  am  attached  to  it 
for  it  is  connected  with  the  earliest  recollections  ot  my  childhood,  and  the 
mountains  that  hem  it  round  look  at  me  with  old  familiar  faces.  I  have 
had  too  many  friends  to  greet  me  here  to  have  as  much  time .  as 1  cou  d 
wish  to  myself,  but  as  I  wander  through  my  old  haunts,  I  think  of  e 
past  summer,  and  many  a  friendly  countenance  on  the  other 
water  comes  before  me.  Then  I  think  ot  the  pleasant  hours i  I  have ^had 
with  you,  my  dear  Ford,  and  of  your  many  kindnesses,  not  to  be  forgot¬ 
ten ;  of  our  merry  Whitebait  feed  with  John  Murray,  at  KoyM  Green¬ 
wich,  which  you  are  to  immortalize  one  day,  you  know,  in  the  Q 

terly,”  ,  .  „ 

“  So  savage  and  tartarly. 

And  that  calls  to  mind  that  prince  of  good  fellows,  Stirling,  and  the  last 
agreeable  little  dinner  we  three  had  together  at  Lockhart  s.  Pray  remem¬ 
ber  mo  most  kindly  to  the  great  Aristarch  and  to  Stirling.  That  was  not 
my  final  parting  with  the  latter  worthy,  for  he  did  me  the  favor  to  smoke 
me  into  the  little  hours  the  morning  before  1  left  London  for  my ’ 
campaign.  And  I  had  the  pleasure  of  a  parting  breakfast  with  you  too, 
in  Brook  Street,  as  you  may  recall,  on  my  return.  God  bless  you  both 
Some  day  or  other  I  shall  expect  to  see  you  twain  on  this  side  of  he 
great  salt  lake,  if  it  is  only  to  hunt  the  grizzly  bear  of  which  amiable 
sport  John  Bull  will,  no  doubt,  become  very  fond  when  Camming  has 
killed  all  the  lions  and  camelopards  ol  the  Hottentot  country. 

In  about  a  fortnight  I  shall  leave  my  naked  woods  for  the  town>ar'^ 
then  for  the  Cdsas  de  Espaha.  And  when  I  am  fairly  in  harness,  I  do 
not  mean  to  think  of  anything  else;  not  even  of  my  coc^®[  f”e“f 
the  great-little  isle.  If  there  is  any  way  m  which  I  eanpossibly  be  ofuse 
to  you  in  the  New  World,  you  will  not  fail  to  tell  me  of  it  with  all  frank 
ness.  Pray  remember  me  most  kindly  to  your  daughters. 

Y  mande  siempre  su  amigo  quien  le  quiere  de  todo  corazon 
Y.  S.  M.  B. 

Guillermo  H.  Prescott. 


LETTER  FROM  MR.  LOCKHART. 


32 


TO  THE  EARL  OF  CARLISLE. 


Boston,  November  12,  1860. 


My  dear  Carlisle, 

I  have  the  pleasure  of  sending  you  Allston’s  Sketches,  of  which  I  spok-c 
to  you.  They  are  the  first  draughts  of  some  of  his  best  pictures ;  among 
them  the  “  Uriel,”  which  the  Duchess  of  Sutherland  has  at  Trentham. 
Generally,  however,  they  have  remained  mere  sketches  which  the  artist 
never  worked  up  into  regular  pictures.  They  have  been  much  esteemed 
by  the  critics  here  as  fine  studies,  and  the  execution  of  this  work  was  in¬ 
trusted  to  two  of  our  best  engravers.  One  of  them  is  excellent  with 

crayons ;  2  quite  equal  to  Richmond  in  the  portraits  of  women . 

I  now  and  then  get  a  reminder  of  the  land  of  roast  mutton  by  the 
sight  of  some  one  or  other  of  your  countrymen  who  emerges  from  the 
steamers  that  arrive  here  every  fortnight.  We  are,  indeed,  one  family. 
Did  I  ever  repeat  to  you  Allston’s  beautiful  lines,  one  stanza  of  the  three 
which  he  wrote  on  the  subject  ?  Les  voil'a  l 


“  While  the  manners,  while  the  arts, 

That  mould  a  nation’s  soul, 

Still  cling  around  our  hearts, 

Between  let  ocean  roll, 

Our  joint  communion  breaking  with  the  sun. 
Yet  still  from  either  beach 
The  voice  of  blood  shall  reach, 

More  audible  than  speech: 

‘  We  are  one.’  ” 


Is  it  not  good  1 . 

Farewell,  my  dear  friend.  I  think  of  you  mixed  up  with  Castle  How¬ 
ard  and  brave  old  Naworth,  and  many  a  pleasant  recollection. 

Once  more,  mio  ca.ro,  addio. 

Always  thine, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 


FROM  MR.  LOCKHART. 

My  dear  Mr.  Prescott, 

Your  basket  of  canvas-backs  arrived  here  a  day  after  your  note,  and 
the  contents  thereof  proved  to  be  in  quite  as  good  condition  as  they  could 
have  been  if  shot  three  days  before  in  Leicestershire.  I  may  say  I  had 
never  before  tasted  the  dainty,  and  that  I  think  it  entirely  merits  its  repu¬ 
tation  ;  but  on  this  last  head,  I  presume  the  ipse  dixit  of  Master  Ford  is 
“a  voice  double  as  any  duke’s.” 

Very  many  thanks  for  your  kind  recollections.  I  had  had  very  pleasing 
accounts  of  you  and  other  friends  from  Holland  on  his  return  from  his 
rapid  expedition.  He  declares  that,  except  the  friends,  he  found  every¬ 
thing  so  changed,  that  your  country  seemed  to  call  for  a  visit  once  in  five 
years,  and  gallant  is  he  in  his  resolution  to  invade  you  again  in  1855.  I 


2  Cheney. 


328 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


wish  I  could  muster  leisure  or  pluck,  or  both,  for  such  au  adventure.  Let 
me  hope  meanwhile  that  long  ere  '55  we  may  again  see  you  and  Everett 
and  Ticknor  here,  where  surely  you  must  all  feel  very  tolerably  at  home. 

Believe  me  always  very  sincerely  yours, 

J.  G.  Lockhart. 

December  27,  1850. 

TO  THE  EARL  OF  CARLISLE. 

Boston,  January  14, 1861. 

My  dear  Carlisle, 

1  have  the  pleasure  of  sending  you  by  this  steamer  a  work  of  which  1 
happen  to  have  two  copies,  containing  the  portraits  of  some  dozen  Yankee 
notabilities,  which  may  perhaps  interest  you.  The  likenesses,  taken  from 
daguerrotypes,  are  sometimes  frightfully,  odiously  like.  Bur  some  of  the 
heads,  as  those  of  Taylor,  our  present  President,  besides  being  true,  are 
not  unpleasing  likenesses.  The  biographical  sketches  are  written  for  the 
most  part,  as  you  will  see,  in  the  Ercles  vein.  My  effigy  was  taken  in 
New  York,  about  an  hour  before  I  sailed  for  England,  when  I  had  rather 
a  rueful  and  lackadaisical  aspect.  The  biographical  notice  of  me  is  better 
done  thau  most  of  them,  in  point  of  literary  execution,  being  written  by 
our  friend  Ticknor. 

Pray  thank  your  brother  Charles  for  his  kindness  in  sending  me  out  the 
reports  of  your  Lectures.  I,  as  well  as  the  rest  of  your  friends  here,  and 
many  more  that  know  you  not,  have  read  them  with  great  pleasure,  and, 
I  trust,  edification.  The  dissertation  on  your  travels  has  been  reprinted 
all  over  the  country,  and,  as  far  as  I  know,  with  entire  commendation. 
Indeed,  it  would  be  churlish  enough  to  take  exception  at  the  very  liberal 
and  charitable  tone  of  criticism  which  pervades  it.  If  you  are  not  blind 
to  our  defects,  it  gives  much  higher  value  to  your  approbation,  and  you 
are  no  niggard  of  that,  certainly.  Even  your  reflections  on  the  black 
plague  will  not  be  taken  amiss  by  the  South,  since  they  are  of  that  abstract 
kind  which  can  hardly  be  contested,  while  you  do  not  pass  judgment  on 
the  peculiar  difficulties  of  our  position,  which  considerably  disturbs  the 
general  question.  Your  remarks  on  me  went  to  my  heart.  They  were 
just  what  I  would  wish  you  to  have  said,  and,  as  1  know  they  came  from 
your  heart,  I  will  not  thank  you  for  them.  On  the  whole,  you  have  set 
an  excellent  example,  which,  I  trust,  will  be  followed  by  others  of  your 
order.  But  few  will  have  it  in  their  power  to  do  good  as  widely  as  you 
have  done,  since  there  are  very  few  whose  remarks  will  be  read  as  exten¬ 
sively,  and  with  the  same  avidity,  on  both  sides  of  the  water. 


TO  THE  EARL  OF  CARLISLE. 

Boston,  U  S.,  January  27,  1851. 

Mr  dear  Carlisle, 

I  wrote  you  from  the  country  that,  w'hen  I  returned  to  town,  I  should 
lose  no  time  in  endeavoring  to  look  up  a  good  painting  of  the  Falls  of 
Niagara.  I  have  not  neglected  this  ;  but,  though  I  found  it  easy  enough 


LETTER  TO  LORD  CARLISLE. 


329 


tc  get  paintings  of  the  grand  cataract,  I  have  not  till  lately  been  able  to 
meet  with  what  I  wanted.  I  will  tell  you  how  this  came  about.  When 
Bulwer,  your  Minister,  was  here,  I  asked  him,  as  he  has  a  good  taste  in 
the  arts,  to  see  if  he  could  meet  with  any  good  picture  of  Niagara  while 
he  was  in  New  York.  Some  time  after,  he  wrote  me  that  he  had  met 
with  “  a  very  beautiful  picture  of  the  Falls,  by  a  Frenchman.”  It  so 
happened,  that  I  had  seen  this  same  picture  much  commended  in  the  New 
York  papers,  and  I  found  that  the  artist’s  name  was  Lebron,  a  person  of 
whom  I  happened  to  know  something,  as  a  letter  from  the  Viscount  San- 
tarem,  in  Paris,  commended  him  to  me  as  a  “  very  distinguished  artist,” 
but  the  note  arriving  last  summer,  while  I  was  absent,  I  had  never  seen 

Mr.  Lebron.  I  requested  my  friend,  Mr. - ,  of  New  York,  on  whose 

judgment  I  place  more  reliance  than  on  that  of  any  other  connoisseur 
whom  I  know,  and  who  has  himself  a  very  pretty  collection  of  pictures,  to 
write  me  his  opinion  of  the  work.  He  fully  confirmed  Bulwer’s  report ; 
and  I  accordingly  bought  the  picture,  which  is  now  in  my  own  house. 

It  is  about  live  feet  by  three  and  a  half,  and  exhibits,  which  is  the  most 
difficult  thing,  an  entire  view  of  the  Falls,  both  on  the  Canada  and  Amer¬ 
ican  side.  The  great  difficulty  to  overcome  is  the  milky  shallowness  of 
the  waters,  where  the  foam  diminishes  so  much  the  apparent  height  of  the 
cataract.  I  think  you  will  agree  that  the  artist  has  managed  this  very 
well.  In  the  distance  a  black  thunder-storm  is  bursting  over  Goat  Island 
and  the  American  Falls.  A  steamboat,  “  The  Maid  of  the  Mist,”  which 
has  been  plying  for  some  years  on  the  river  below,  forms  an  object  by 
which  the  eye  can  measure,  in  some  degree,  the  stupendous  proportions 
of  the  cataract.  On  the  edge  of  the  Horseshoe  Fall  is  the  fragment  of  a 
ferry-boat  which,  more  than  a  year  since,  was  washed  down  to  the  brink 
of  the  precipice,  and  has  been  there  detained  until  within  a  week,  when,  I 
see  by  the  papers,  it  has  been  carried  over  into  the  abyss.  I  mention  these 
little  incidents  that  you  may  understand  them,  being  something  different 
from  what  you  saw  when  you  were  at  Niagara ;  and  perhaps  you  may 
recognize  some  change  in  the  form  of  the  Table-llock  itself,  some  tons  of 
which,  carrying  away  a  carriage  and  horses  standing  on  it  at  the  time, 
slipped  into  the  gulf  a  year  or  more  since. 

I  shall  send  the  painting  out  by  the  “  Canada,”  February  12th,  being 
the  first  steamer  which  leaves  this  port  for  Liverpool,  and,  as  I  have  been 
rather  unlucky  in  some  of  my  consignments,  I  think  it  will  be  as  safe  to 
address  the  box  at  once  to  you,  and  it  will  await  your  order  at  Liverpool, 
where  it  will  probably  arrive  the  latter  part  of  February. 

I  shall  be  much  disappointed  if  it  does  not  please  you  well  enough  to 
hang  upon  your  wails  as  a  faithful  representation  of  the  great  cataract ; 
and  I  trust  you  will  gratify  me  by  accepting  it  as  a  souvenir  of  your  friend 
across  the  water.  I  assure  you  it  pleases  me  much  to  think  there  is  any¬ 
thing  I  can  send  you  from  this  quarter  of  the  world  which  will  give  you 
pleasure . 

Fray  remember  me  most  affectionately  to  your  mother  and  sister,  who. 
I  suppose,  are  now  in  town  with  you. 

And  believe  me,  dearest  Carlisle, 

Ever  faithfully  yours, 

W.  II.  Prescott. 


330 


WILLIAM  IIICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


TO  THE  EARL  OF  CARLISLE. 

Boston,  May  29,  1861. 

My  dear  Carlisle, 

I  am  off  in  a  couple  of  days  for  the  great  cataract.  I  like  to  refresn 
my  recollections  of  it  every  few  years  by  a  visit  in  person  ;  and  I  have  a 
pleasant  party  to  accompany  me.  I  wish  you  were  one  of  them.  How  I 
should  like  to  stroll  through  the  woods  of  Goat  Island  with  you,  my  dear 
Carlisle,  and  talk  over  the  pleasant  past,  made  so  pleasant  the  last  year  by 
you  and  yours.  By  the  by,  the  Duke  of  Argyll  sent  me  an  address  which 
he  made  some  time  since  at  Glasgow,  in  width  he  made  the  kindest  men¬ 
tion  of  me.  It  was  a  very  sensible  discourse,  and  I  thiuk  it  would  be  well 
for  the  country  if  more  of  the  aristocracy  were  to  follow  the  example, 
which  you  and  he  have  set,  of  addressing  the  people  on  other  topics  besides 
those  of  a  polidcal  or  agricultural  nature,  —  the  two  great  hobbies  of 

John  Bull.  . 

So  you  perceive  Sumner  is  elected  after  twenty  balloting*.  His  posi¬ 
tion  will  be  a  difficult  one.  He  represents  a  coalition  of  the  Democratic 
and  Free-Soil  parties,  who  have  little  relation  to  one  another.  And  in 
the  Senate  the  particular  doctrine  which  he  avows  finds  no  favor,  i 
believe  it  will  prove  a  bed  filled  more  with  thorns  than  with  roses.  I  had 
a  Ion"  talk  with  him  yesterday,  and  I  think  he  feels  it  himself.  It  is  to 
his  credit  that  he  has  not  committed  himself  by  any  concessions  to  secure 
his  election.  The  difficulty  with  Sumner  as  a  statesman  is,  that  he  aims 
at  the  greatest  abstract  good  instead  of  the  greatest  good  practicable.  By 
such  a  policy  he  misses  even  thU  lower  mark;  not  a  low  one  either  for  a 
philanthropist  and  a  patriot. 

You  and  your  friends  still  continue  to  manage  the  ship  notwithstanding 
the  rough  seas  you  have  had  to  encounter.  I  should  think  it  must  be  a 
perplexing  office  unril  your  parties  assume  some  more  determinate  charac¬ 
ter  so  as  to  throw  a  decided  support  into  the  government  scale. 

Pray  remember  me  most  affectionately  to  your  mother  and  to  Lady 
Mary,  and  to  the  Duchess  of  Sutherland,  whom  I  suppose  you  see  often, 
and  believe  me,  my  dear  Carlisle, 

Always  most  affectionately  your  friend, 

W.  H.  Prescott. 


TO  MRS.  MILMAN. 

Boston,  February  16,  1862. 

How  kind  it  was  in  you,  my  dear  Mrs.  Milman,  to  write  me  such  a 
good  letter,  and  I  am  afraid  you  will  think  little  deserved  by  me.  But  if 
I  have  not  written,  it  is  not  that  I  have  not  thought  often  of  the  happy 
days  I  have  passed  in  your  society  and  in  that  of  my  good  friend  the 
Dean,  _  God  bless  you  both  1  You  congratulated  me  on  the  engagement 
of  my  daughter.3  It  is  a  satisfactory  circumstance  for  us  every  way  ;  and 

8  His  only  daughter  to  Mr.  James  Lawrence,  eldest  son  of  Mr.  Abbott 
Lawrence,  who  was  then  Minister  of  the  United  States  in  London. 


LETTER  TO  MRS.  MILMAN. 


33) 


the  character  of  the  firmed  is  such,  I  believe,  as  to  promise  as  much  hap 
piness  to  the  union  as  one  could  expect.  Yet  it  is  a  hard  thing  to  part 
with  a  daughter,  —  an  only  daughter,  —  the  light  of  one’s  home  and  one’s 
heart.  The  boys  go  off,  as  a  thing  of  course ;  for  man  is  a  migratory 
animal.  But  a  woman  seems  part  of  the  household  fixtures.  Yet  a  little 
reflection  makes  us  feel  that  a  good  connection  is  far  better  than  single 
blessedness,  especially  in  our  country,  where  matrimony  is  the  destiny  of 
so  nearly  all,  that  the  few  exceptions  to  it  are  in  rather  a  lonely  and 
anomalous  position. 

What  a  delightful  tour  you  must  have  had  in  Italy  !  It  reminds  me  of 
wandering  over  the  same  sunny  land,  five  and  thirty  years  ago,  —  a  pro¬ 
digious  reminiscence.  It  is  one  of  the  charms  of  your  situation  that  you 
have  but  to  cross  a  narrow  strait  of  some  twenty  miles  to  find  yourself 
transported  to  a  region  as  unlike  your  own  as  the  moon,  — ■  and,  to  say 
truth,  a  good  deal  more  unlike.  This  last  coup  d’etat  shows,  as  Scriblerus 
says, 

“  None  but  themselves  can  be  their  parallel.” 

I  am  very  glad  to  learn  from  your  letter  that  the  Dean  is  making  good 
progress  in  the  continuation  of  his  noble  work.  I  have  always  thought  it 
very  creditable  to  the  government  that  it  has  bestowed  its  church  dignities 
on  one  so  liberal  and  tolerant  as  your  husband.  I  do  not  think  that  the 
royal  patronage  always  dares  to  honor  those  in  the  Church,  whom  the 
world  most  honors. 

Have  you  seen  Macaulay  of  late  ?  He  told  me  that  he  should  not 
probably  make  his  bow  to  the  public  again  before  1853.  It  seems  that  his 
conjecture  was  not  wrong,  the  false  newspapers  notwithstanding.  But  one 
learns  not  to  believe  a  thing,  for  the  reason  that  it  is  affirmed  in  the  news¬ 
papers.  Our  former  Minister,  Bancroft,  has  a  volume  in  the  press,  a  con¬ 
tinuation  of  his  American  history,  which  will  serve  as  a  counterpart  to 
Lord  Mahon’s,  exhibiting  the  other  side  of  the  tapestry. 

I  hope  history  is  in  possession  of  all  the  feuds  that  will  ever  take  place 
between  the  two  kindred  nations.  In  how  amiable  a  way  the  correspond¬ 
ence  about  the  Prometheus  has  been  conducted  by  Lord  Granville  !  John 
Bull  can  afford  to  make  apology  when  he  is  in  the  wrong.  The  present 
state  of  things  in  Europe  should  rather  tend  to  draw  the  only  two  great 
nations  where  constitutional  liberty  exists  more  closely  together. 

I  am  very  glad  that  our  friend  Mr.  Hallam  is  to  have  the  satisfaction 
of  seeing  his  daughter  so  well  married.  He  has  had  many  hard  blows, 
and  this  ray  of  sunshine  will,  I  hope,  light  up  his  domestic  hearth  for  the 
evening  of  life.  Pray  present  my  congratulations  most  sincerely  to  him 
and  Miss  Hallam. 

We  are  now  beginning  to  be  busy  with  preparations  for  my  daughter’s 
approaching  nuptials,  which  will  take  place,  probably,  in  about  a  month, 
if  some  Paris  toggery,  furniture,  &c.,  as  indispensable  as  a  bridegroom  or 
a  priest,  it  seems,  come  in  due  time.  The  affair  makes  a  merry  stir  in 
our  circle,  in  the  way  of  festive  parties,  balls,  and  dinners.  Bat  in  truth 
there  is  a  little  weight  lies  at  the  bottom  of  my  heart  when  I  think  that 


332 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


the  seat  at  her  own  board  is  to  be  forever  vacant.  Yet  it  is  but  a  migra¬ 
tion  to  the  next  street.  How  can  parents  consent  to  a  match  that  places 
an  ocean  betwixt  them  and  their  children  ? 

But  I  must  bring  my  prosy  talk  to  a  close.  I  feel,  now  that  I  have  my 
pen  in  hand,  that  I  am  by  your  side,  with  your  husband  and  your  family, 
and  our  friends  the  Lyells ;  or  perhaps  rambling  over  the  grounds  of  royal 
Windsor,  or  through  dark  passages  in  the  Tower,  or  the  pleasant  haunts 
of  Richmond  Hill ;  at  the  genial  table  of  the  charming  lady  “  who  came 
out  in  Queen  Anne’s  day,”  or  many  other  places  with  which  your  memory 
and  your  husband’s,  your  kindly  countenances  and  delightful  talk,  are  all 
associated.  When  I  lay  my  head  on  my  pillow,  the  forms  of  the  dear 
friends  gather  round  me,  and  sometimes  I  have  the  good  luck  to  see  them 
in  midnight  visions,  —  and  I  wake  up  aud  find  it  all  a  dream. 

Pray  remember  me  most  kindly  to  the  Dean  and  your  sons,  and  to 
Lady  Lyell,  whom,  I  suppose,  you  often  see,  and  believe  me,  my  dear 
Mrs.  Milman, 

Always  most  affectionately  yours, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 


TO  THE  EARL  OP  CARLISLE. 


Boston,  April  7,  1862. 

Dearest  Carlisle, 

Lawrence  wrote  me  a  little  while  since  that  yon  remarked  you  could 
now  say  for  ouco  that  I  was  in  your  debt.  It  may  be  so ;  but  I  wonder 
if  I  have  not  given  you  two  to  one,  or  some  such  odds.  But  no  matter ; 
in  friendship,  as  in  love,  an  exact  tally  is  not  to  be  demanded. 

Since  I  had  last  the  pleasure  of  hearing  from  you,  there  has  been  a 
great  revolution  in  your  affairs,  and  the  ins  have  become  outs.  Is  it  not 
an  awkward  thing  to  be  obliged  to  face  about,  and  take  just  the  opposite 
tacks ;  to  be  always  on  the  attack  instead  of  the  defence  !  What  a 
change  !  First  to  break  with  your  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs,  who  was 
in  so  much  glory,  fighting  the  battle  so  stoutly  when  I  was  in  London ! 
And  then  to  break  up  altogether,  and  surrender  the  field  to  the  Protec¬ 
tionists  !  We  are  most  of  us  protectionists,  more  or  less,  in  my  part  of 
the  country,  with  which  doctrines  I  found  very  little  sympathy  when  I 
was  in  England.  I  wonder  if  that  policy  can  possibly  get  the  upper  hand 
again  with  you.  The  revocare  gradum  is  always  a  difficult  step,  more  dif¬ 
ficult  than  any  two  forward.  Can  the  present  Cabinet  possibly  stand  on 
one  leg,  and  that  the  lame  one  of  protection  f  We  at  the  North  have 
long  been  trying  to  get  the  scale  of  duties  raised,  but  in  vain.  Nil  re- 
trorsum.  What  hot  work  you  will  have  in  the  coming  election  !  It  would 
bo  almost  worth  a  voyage  to  see.  Yet  I  doubt  if  any  candidate  will 
spend  a  hundred  thousand  upon  it,  as  w'as  the  case,  I  believe,  in  your  own 
county  not  many  years  ago. 

Sumner  has  not  been  anxious  to  make  a  display  in  Congress.  In  this 
he  has  judged  well.  The  session  has  been  a  tame  one,  so  far.  He  made 
a  short  speech  on  the  Kossuth  business,  and  a  very  good  one ;  —  since 
that,  a  more  elaborate  effort  on  the  distribution  of  our  wild  lands,  so  as  to 


LETTER  TO  LORD  CARLISLE 


S83 


favor  the  new,  unsettled  States.  According  to  our  way  of  thinking,  he 
was  not  so  successful  here.  I  suppose  he  provides  you  with  his  parlia¬ 
mentary  eloquence.  We  are  expecting  Kossuth  here  before  long.  I  am 
glad  he  takes  us  last.  I  should  be  sorry  that  we  should  get  into  a  scrape 
by  any  ill-advised  enthusiasm.  Ee  has  been  preaching  up  doctrines  of 
intervention  (called  by  him  non-intervention)  by  no  means  suited  to  our 
policy,  which,  as  our  position  affords  us  the  means  of  keeping  aloof, 
should  be  to  wash  our  hands  of  all  the  troubles  of  the  Old  World. 

What  troubles  you  are  having  now,  in  Erance  especially.  But  revolu¬ 
tion  is  the  condition  of  a  Frenchman’s  existence  apparently.  Can  that 
country  long  endure  the  present  state  of  things,  —  the  days  of  Augustus 
Caesar  over  again  t 

Have  you  seen  Bancroft’s  new  volume  ?  I  think  this  volume,  which 
has  his  characteristic  merits  and  defects,  showy,  sketchy,  and  full  of  bold 
speculations,  will  have  interest  for  you.  Lord  Mahon  is  on  the  same 
field,  surveying  it  from  an  opposite  point  of  view.  So  we  are  Likely  to 
have  the  American  Revolution  well  dissected  by  able  writers  on  opposite 
sides  at  the  same  time.  The  result  will  probably  be  doubt  upon  every¬ 
thing. 

In  the  newspaper  of  to-day  is  a  letter,  to  be  followed  by  two  others, 
addressed  to  Bryant,  the  poet-editor  of  the  Now  York  “  Evening  Post,” 
from  Sparks,  himself  the  editor  of  Washington’s  papers,  I  think  you 
must  have  known  Sparks  here.  He  is  now  the  President  of  Harvard  Uni¬ 
versity,  the  post  occupied  by  Everett  after  his  return.  Sparks  has  been 
sharply  handled  for  the  corruption  of  the  original  text  of  Washington,  as 
appeared  by  comparisons  of  some  of  the  originals  with  his  printed  copy. 
Lord  Mahon,  among  others,  has  some  severe  strictures  on  him  in  his  last 
volume.  Sparks’s  letters  are  in  vindication  of  himself,  on  the  ground  that 
the  alterations  are  merely  verbal,  to  correct  bad  grammar  and  obvious 
blunders,  which  Washington  would  have  corrected  himself,  had  he  pre¬ 
pared  his  correspondence  for  the  press.  He  makes  out  a  fair  case  for 
himself,  and  any  one  who  knows  the  integrity  of  Sparks  will  give  him 
credit  for  what  he  states.  As  he  has  some  reflections  upon  Lord  Mahon’s 
rash  criticism,  as  he  terms  it,  I  doubt  not  he  will  send  him  a  copy,  or  I 
would  do  it,  as  I  think  he  would  like  to  see  the  explanation. 

I  suppose  you  breakfast  sometimes  with  Macaulay,  and  that  he  dines 
sometimes  with  you.  I  wish  I  could  be  with  you  at  both.  I  suppose  he 
is  busy  on  his  new  volume.  When  will  the  new  brace  be  bagged  1  I 
remember  he  prophesied  to  me  not  before  1853,  and  I.  was  very  glad  to 
hear  from  him,  that  his  great  success  did  not  make  him  hurry  over  that 
historic  ground.  A  year  or  two  extra  is  well  spent  on  a  work  destined  to 
live  forever. 

And  now,  my  dear  friend,  I  do  not  know  that  there  is  anything  hero 
that  I  can  tell  you  of  that  will  much  interest  you.  I  am  foddering  over 
my  book ;  still  Philippizing.  But  “  it  is  a  far  cry  to  Loch  Awe  ”  ;  which 
place,  far  as  it  is,  by  the  by,  I  saw  on  my  last  visit  to  Europe  under  such 
delightful  auspices,  with  the  Lord  of  the  Campbells  and  his  lovely  lady, 
God  preserve  them  !  I  have  been  quite  industrious,  for  me,  this  winter, 
in  spite  of  hymeneal  merry-making,  and  am  now  on  my  second  volume. 
But  it  is  a  terrible  subject,  so  large  and  diffuse,  —  the  story  of  Europe. 


334 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


I  told  Bentley  to  send  Lady  Mary  a  copy  of  my  “  Miscellanies  ”  two 
months  since,  which  contains  an  engraved  portrc’f  of  me  from  a  picture 
by  Phillips,  painted  when  in  London  for  Mr.  Stirling.  The  engraving  is 

a  good  one ;  better,  I  suspect,  than  the  likeness . 

You  will  think,  by  the  length  of  my  yarn,  that  I  really  think  you  are 
returned  to  private  life  again,  and  have  nothing  in  the  world  to  do.  But 
a  host  of  pleasant  recollections  gather  round  me  while  I  converse  with  vcu 
across  the  waters,  and  I  do  not  like  to  break  the  spell.  But  it  is  time. 
I  must  not  close  without  thanking  you  for  the  kind  congratulations  wliich 
you  sent  me  some  weeks  since  on  my  daughter’s  approaching  nuptials. 
It  is  all  over  now,  and  I  am  childless,  and  yet  fortunate,  if  it  must  be  so. 
Does  not  your  sister  the  Duchess  part  with  her  last  unmarried  daughter 
very  soon  1  The  man  is  fortunate,  indeed,  who  is  to  have  such  a  bride. 
Pray  say  all  that  is  kind  for  me  to  the  Duchess,  whose  kindness  to  me  is 
among  the  most  cherished  of  my  recollections  in  my  pleasant  visit  to  merry 
England. 

Farewell,  dear  Carlisle.  Believe  me  always 

Affectionately  yours, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 


TO  LADY  LYELL. 


Boston,  Aoril  18,  1862. 

My  dear  Lady  Lyele, 

Since  I  last  wrote,  we  have  had  another  wedding  in  my  family,  as  you 
have  no  doubt  heard.  Indeed,  you  prove  how  well  you  arc  posted  up 
about  us,  and  the  kind  part  you  take  in  our  happiness,  by  the  little  souvenir 
which  you  sent  to  Lizzy  at  the  time  of  the  marriage.4  We  like  to  have 
the  sympathy  of  those  who  are  dear  to  us  in  our  joys  and  our  sorrows. 
I  am  sure  we  shall  always  have  yours  in  both,  though  I  hope  it  will  be 
long  before  we  have  to  draw  on  it  for  the  latter.  Yet  when  did  the  sun 
6hine  long  without  a  cloud,  —  lucky,  if  without  a  tempest.  We  have  had 
one  cloud  in  our  domestic  circle  the  last  fortnight,  in  the  state  of  my 
mother’s  health.  She  was  confined  to  the  house  this  spring  by  an  injury, 
in  itself  not  important,  to  her  leg.  But  the  inaction,  to  which  she  is  so  little 
accustomed,  has  been  followed  by  loss  of  strength,  and  she  does  not  rally  as 
I  wish  she  did.  Should  summer  ever  bless  us,  of  which  I  have  my  doubts, 
I  trust  she  will  regain  the  ground  she  has  lost.  But  I  guess  and  fear ! 
Eighty-five  is  a  heavy  load  ;  hard  to  rise  under.  It  is  like  the  old  man  in 
the  Arabian  Nights,  that  poor  Sinbad  could  not  shake  off  from  his  shoulders. 
Elizabeth’s  marriage  has  given  occasion  to  a  good  deal  of  merry-making, 
and  our  little  society  has  been  quite  astir  in  spite  of  Lent.  Indeed,  the 
only  Past-day  which  the  wicked  Unitarians  keep  is  that  appointed  by  the 
Governor  as  the  “  day  of  fasting,  humiliation,  and  prayer.”  It  comes 
always  in  April.  We  keep  it  so  appropriately,  that  I  could  not  help  re¬ 
marking  the  other  day,  that  it  would  be  a  pity  to  have  it  abolished,  as  we 
have  so  few  Jete  days  in  our  country. 

4  Tne  marriage  of  his  only  daughter  to  Mr.  Lawrence,  already  mentioned. 


CHAPTER  XXI Y. 


1852. 


Political  Opinions.  —  Correspondence  with  Mr.  Bancroft,  Mr.  Ev¬ 
erett,  and  Mr.  Sumner.  —  Conversation  on  Political  Subjects. 

F  Mr.  Prescott’s  political  opinions  there  is  little  to  be  said. 


That  he  was  sincerely  and  faithfully  attached  to  his  coun¬ 
try  —  to  his  whole  country  —  nobody  ever  doubted  who  heard 
him  speak  on  the  subject.  His  letters  when  he  was  in  Eng¬ 
land,  flattered  as  few  men  have  been  by  English  hospitality, 
are  as  explicit  on  this  point  as  was  the  expression  of  his  every¬ 
day  feelings  and  thoughts  at  home.  But,  with  all  his  patriotic 
loyalty,  he  took  little  interest  in  the  passing  quarrels  of  the 
political  parties  that,  at  different  times,  divided  and  agitated 
the  country.  They  were  a  disturbing  element  in  the  quiet, 
earnest  pursuit  of  his  studies  ;  and  such  elements,  whatever 
they  might  be,  or  whencesoever  they  might  come,  he  always 
injected  with  a  peculiar  sensitiveness ;  anxious,  under  all  cir¬ 
cumstances,  to  maintain  the  even,  happy  state  of  mind  to 
which  his  nature  seemed  to  entitle  him,  and  which  he  found 
important  to  continuous  work.  He  was  wont  to  say,  that  he 
dealt  with  political  discussions  only  when  they  related  to  events 
and  persons  at  least  two  centuries  old. 

Of  friends  who  were  eminent  in  political  affairs  he  had  not 
a  few  ;  but  his  regard  for  them  did  not  rest  on  political  grounds. 
With  Mr.  Everett,  whom  he  knew  early  during  his  college  life, 
and  who,  as  Secretary  of  State,  represented  the  old  Whig  par¬ 
ty,  he  had  always  the  most  kindly  intercourse,  and  received 
from  him,  as  we  have  seen,  while  that  gentleman  was  residing 
in  Italy  in  1840  and  1841,  and  subsequently  while  he  so  ably 
represented  the  United  States  as  our  Minister  in  London,  effi¬ 
cient  assistance  in  collecting  materials  for  the  “  History  of 
Philip  the  Second.”  With  Mr.  Bancroft,  who  had  an  inherited 
claim  on  his  regard,  and  whom  he  knew  much  from  1822,  he 


336 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


stood  in  relations  somewhat  more  intimate  and  familiar,  and 
always  maintained  them,  though  he  never  sympathized  with 
his  friend  in  the  decidedly  democratical  tendencies  that  have 
marked  his  brilliant  career  as  a  statesman.  With  Mr.  Sumner 
his  personal  acquaintance  began  later,  —  not  till  the  return  of 
that  gentleman  from  Europe  in  1840  ;  but  from  the  first,  it 
was  cordial,  and  in  the  last  two  or  three  years  of  his  life  he 
took  much  interest  in  the  questions  that  arose  about  Kansas, 
and  voted  for  Mr.  Fremont  as  President  in  preference  to  either 
of  the  other  candidates.  During  his  whole  life,  however,  he 
belonged  essentially,  both  in  his  political  feelings  and  in  his 
political  opinions,  as  his  father  always  did,  to  the  conservative, 
school  of  Washington  and  Hamilton,  as  its  doctrines  are  re¬ 
corded  and  developed  in  the  “  F ederalist.” 

With  the  three  eminent  men  just  referred  to,  whom  all  will 
recognize  as  marking  with  the  lustre  of  their  names  the  oppo 
site  corners  of  the  equilateral  triangle  formed  by  the  three 
great  political  parties  that  at  different  times  during  Mr.  Pres¬ 
cott’s  life  preponderated  in  the  country,  he  had  a  correspond¬ 
ence,  sometimes  interrupted  by  the  changing  circumstances  of 
their  respective  positions,  but  always  kindly  and  interesting. 
The  political  questions  of  the  day  appeared  in  it,  of  course, 
occasionally.  But  whenever  this  occurred,  it  was  rather  by 
accident  than  otherwise.  The  friendship  of  the  parties  had 
been  built  on  other  foundations,  and  always  rested  on  them 
safely. 

The  earliest  letters  to  Mr.  Bancroft  that  I  have  seen  are 
two  or  three  between  1824  and  1828;  but  they  are  unimpor¬ 
tant  for  any  purposes  of  biography.  The  next  one  is  of  1831, 
and  is  addressed  to  Northampton,  Massachusetts,  where  Mr. 
Bancroft  then  lived. 


TO  ME.  BANCROFT. 

Boston,  April  30,  1831. 

Mr  dear  Friend, 

We  jog  on  in  much  the  same  way  here,  and,  as  we  are  none  of  u» 
Jacksonists,  care  little  for  the  upsetting  of  cabinets,  or  any  other  mad 
v ranks,  which  doubtless  keep  you  awake  at  Northampton,  for  I  perceive 


LETTER  TO  MR.  BANCROFT. 


337 


j'ou  axe  doing  as  many  a  misguided  man  has  done  before  you,  quitting 
the  sweets  of  letters  for  the  thorny  path  of  politics.  I  must  say  I  had 
rather  drill  Greek  and  Latin  into  little  boys  all  my  life,  than  take  up  with 

this  trade  in  our  country.  However,  so  does  not  think  Mr. - ,  nor 

Mr.  — ,  nor  Mr.  &c.,  &c.,  &c.,  who  are  much  better  qualified  to  carry 
off  all  the  prizes  in  literature  than  I  can  be.  Your  article  on  the  Bank 
of  the  United  States  produced  quite  a  sensation,  and  a  considerable  con¬ 
trariety  of  opinion.1  Where  will  you  break  out  next  ?  I  did  not  thiuk 
to  see  you  turn  out  a  financier  in  your  old  age  !  I  have  just  recovered 
from  a  fit  of  sickness,  which  has  confined  me  to  my  bed  for  a  fortnight. 
I  think  the  weather  will  confine  me  to  the  house  another  fortnight.  Do 
you  mean  to  make  a  flying  trip  to  our  latitudes  this  vacation  1  We 
should  be  glad  to  see  you.  In  the  mean  time  I  must  beg  you  to  commend 
me  to  your  wife,  and  believe  me, 

Most  affectionately  your  friend, 

Wit.  H.  Prescott. 


TO  MR.  BANCROFT. 


My  dear  Bancroft, 


Pepperell,  October  4,  ISST 


Since  we  returned  here,  I  have  run  through  your  second  volume  with 
uuch  pleasure.2  I  had  some  misgivings  that  the  success  of  the  first,3  and 
still  more  that  your  political  hobbyism,  might  have  made  you,  if  not 
careless,  at  least  less  elaborate.  But  I  see  no  symptoms  of  it.  On  the 
contrary,  you  have  devoted  apparently  ample  investigation  to  all  the  great 
topics  of  interest.  The  part  you  have  descanted  on  less  copiously  than  I 
had  anticipated  —  perhaps  from  what  I  had  heard  you  say  yourself  —  was 
the  character  and  habits  of  the  Aborigines  ;  but  I  don’t  know  that  you 
have  not  given  as  ample  space  to  them  —  considering,  after  all,  they  are 
but  incidental  to  the  main  subject  —  as  your  canvas  wrould  allow.4  You 
certainly  have  contrived  to  keep  the  reader  wide  awake,  which,  consider¬ 
ing  that  the  summary  nature  of  the  work  necessarily  excluded  the  interest 
derived  from  a  regular  and  circumstantial  narrative,  is  a  great  thing.  As 
you  have  succeeded  so  well  in  this  respect,  in  the  comparatively  barren 
parts  of  the  subject,  you  cannot  fail  as  you  draw  nearer  our  own  times. 

I  see  you  are  figuring  on  the  Van  Buren  Committee  for  concocting  a 
public  address.  Why  do  you  coquet  with  such  a  troublesome  termagant 
as  politics,  when  the  glorious  Muse  of  History  opens  her  arms  to  receive 
you  2  I  can’t  say  I  comprehend  the  fascination  of  such  a  mistress ;  for 
which,  I  suppose,  you  will  commiserate  me. 

Well,  I  am  just  ready  to  fly  from  my  perch,  in  the  form  of  three  pon- 


1  An  article  in  the  “  North  American  Review,”  by  Mr.  Bancroft. 

*  Then  just  published. 

8  Published  in  1834. 

*  The  sketch  of  the  Indians  was  reserved  for  Mr.  Bancroft’s  third  volume, 
and  was,  in  fact,  made  with  a  great  deal  of  care. 

15 


V 


338 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


derous  oetavos.  Don’t  you  think  there  will  be  a  great  eagerness  to  pay 
seven  dollars  and  a  half  for  an  auld  warld’s  tale  of  the  fifteenth  century 
in  these  rub-and-go  times  1 5  You  are  more  fortunate  than  I,  tor  all  who 
have  bought  your  first,  will  necessarily  buy  the  second  volume ,  as  sub 
scribers  to  a  railroad  are  obliged  to  go  on  deeper  and  deeper  with  the 
creation  of  new  stock,  in  order  to  make  the  old  of  any  value,  as  I  have 
found  by  precious  experience.  Nevertheless,  I  shall  take  the  field  in  De¬ 
cember,  Deo  volente,  all  being  in  readiness  now  for  striking  off,  except  the 
paper. 

With  the  sincere  hope  that  your  family  continue  in  health,  and  that  you 
may  be  blessed  yourself  with  good  health  and  restored  spirits,  1  am 
Ever  truly  yours, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 


TO  MR.  BANCROFT. 

Saturday  P.  M.  (indorsed  May  6,  1838.) 

I  Sum  th"v  with  my  hearty  thanks.  I  think  it  is  one  of  the 
most  delightful  tributes  ever  paid  by  friendship  to  an  ho^  P’ 
think  it  is  written  in  your  very  happiest  manner.  I  do  not  believe,  in  es 
touting ' itTo  I  am  misled  by  the  subject,  or  the  winter  for  I  have  no 
been  very  easy  to  please  on  the  score  of  puffs,  of  winch  I  have  had  full 
measrnn/vou'know,  from  my  good-natured  friends.  But  the  style  of  the 
Sece  is  gorgeous,  vvithout  being  over-loaded,  and  the  tone  of  sentiment 
most  original  without  the  least  approach  to  extravagance  or  obscunty 
Indeed  the  originality  of  the  thoughts  and  the  topics  touched  on  consti¬ 
tute  Us  great  charm!  and  make  the  article,  even  at  this  eleventh  hour, 
when  so  much  has  been  said  on  the  subject,  have  all  the  freshness  of  nov- 
cltv  In  this  I  confess,  considering  how  long  it  had  been  kept  on  the 
shdf  I  am  most  agreeably  disappointed.  As  to  the  length,  it  is,  taken 
ta  lLS..  with  the  sort  of  critique,  jus.  the  thing.  *  ” 
from  venturing  on  it,  and  I  am  sure  a  man  must  be  without  relish  for 
beautiful,  who  can  lay  it  down  without  finishing. 

Faithfully  yours, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 

P  S  There  is  one  thing  which  I  had  like  to  have  forgotten,  but 
which  I  shall  not  forgive.  You  have  the  effrontery  to^peatof  my  hav- 

.  Stolen  West  ce  que  cela,  soixante  ans  1  C’est  la  fleur  de  1  age  cela. 
Ptoeof  life,  indeed !  People  will  think  the  author  is  turned  of  seventy. 
He  was  a  more  discreet  critic  that  called  me  “  young  and  modest  l 

6  There  were  heavy  financial  troubles  in  the  winter  of  1837  -  8. 

•  £  ardcle  in  the  “  Democratic  Review,”  by  Mr  Bancroft,  on  the  Fer¬ 
dinand  and  Isabella.”  It  has  been  noticed  ante ,  p.  104. 


LETTER  TO  MR.  SUMNER. 


839 


TO  ME.  BANCROFT. 

Thursday  morning,  November  1,  1838 

Dear  Bancroft, 

I  return  you  Carlyle  with  my  thanks.  I  have  read  as  much  of  him  as 
I  could  stand.  After  a  very  candid  desire  to  relish  him,  I  must  say  I  do 
not  at  all.  I  think  he  has  proceeded  on  a  wrong  principle  altogether. 
The  French  Revolution  is  a  most  lamentable  comedy  (as  Niek  Bottom 
says)  of  itself,  and  requires  nothing  but  the  simplest  statement  of  facts  to 
freeze  one’s  blood.  To  attempt  to  color  so  highly  what  nature  has  al¬ 
ready  overeolored  is,  it  appears  to  me,  in  very  bad  taste,  and  produces  a 
grotesque  and  ludicrous  effect,  the  very  opposite  of  the  sublime  or  beauti¬ 
ful.  Then  such  ridiculous  affectations  of  new-fangled  words  1  Carlyle  is 
even  a  bungler  at  his  own  business ;  for  his  creations,  or  rather  combina¬ 
tions,  in  this  way,  are  the  most  discordant  and  awkward  possible.  As  he 
runs  altogether  for  dramatic,  or  rather  picturesque  effect,  he  is  not  to  be 
challenged,  I  suppose  for  want  of  original  views.  This  forms  no  part  of 
his  plan.  His  views  certainly,  as  far  as  I  can  estimate  them,  are  trite 
enough.  And,  in  short,  the  whole  thing,  in  my  humble  opinion,  both  as 
to  forme  and  to  fond,  is  perfectly  contemptible.  Two  or  three  of  his  arti¬ 
cles  in  the  Reviews  are  written  in  a  much  better  manner,  and  with  eleva¬ 
tion  of  thought,  if  not  with  originality.  But  affectation, 

“  The  trail  of  the  serpent  is  over  them  all.” 

Mercy  on  us,  you  will  say,  what  have  I  done  to  bring  such  a  shower  of 
twaddle  about  my  ears  ?  Indeed,  it  is  a  poor  return  for  your  kindness  in 
lending  me  the  work,  and  will  discourage  you  in  future,  no  doubt.  But 
to  say  truth,  I  have  an  idle  hour ;  my  books  are  putting  up.7 

Thierry  I  will  keep  longer,  with  your  leave.  He  says  “  he  has  made 
friends  with  darkness.”  There  are  we  brothers. 

Faithfully  yours, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 


TO  MR.  SUMNER." 


Boston,  April  18,  1839. 

My  dear  Sir, 

Our  friend  Hillard9  read  to  me,  yesterday,  some  extracts  from  a  recent 
letter  of  yours,  in  which  you  speak  of  your  interviews  with  Mr.  Ford,10 


1  For  moving  to  town. 

*  Mr.  Sumner  was  then  in  Europe,  and  Mr.  Prescott  was  not  yet  person¬ 
ally  acquainted  with  him. 

»  George  S.  Hillard,  Esq.,  author  of  the  charming  book,  “  Six  Months  in 
Italy,”  first  printed  in  1853  in  Boston,  and  subsequently  in  London,  by  Mur¬ 
ray,  since  which  it  has  become  a  sort  of  manual  for  travellers  who  visit 
Florence  and  Rome. 

10  Already  noticed  for  his  review  in  the  “  London  Quarterly  ”  of  “  Ferdi¬ 
nand  and  Isabella,”  and  for  his  subsequent  personal  friendship  with  Mr. 
Prescott. 


340 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


who  is  to  wield  the  scalping-knife  over  my  bantling  in  the  “  Quarterly.” 
I  cannot  refrain  from  thanking  you  for  your  very  efficient  kindness  to¬ 
wards  me  in  this  instance,  as  well  as  for  the  very  friendly  manner  in  which 
you  have  enabled  me  to  become  acquainted  with  the  state  of  opinion  on 
the  literary  merits  of  my  History  in  London.  It  is,  indeed,  a  rare  piece 
of  good  fortune  to  be  thus  put  in  possession  of  the  critical  judgments  of 
the  most  cultivated  society,  who  speak  our  native  language.  Such  infor¬ 
mation  cannot  be  gathered  from  Reviews  and  Magazines,  which  put  on  a 
6ort  of  show  dress  for  the  public,  and  which  are  very  often,  too,  executed 
by  inferior  hands.  Through  my  friend  Ticknor,  first,  and  subsequently 
through  you,  I  have  had  all  the  light  I  could  desire  ;  and  I  can  have  no 
doubt,  that  to  the  good-natured  offices  of  both  of  you  I  am  indebted  for 
those  presses  in  my  favor,  which  go  a  good  way  towards  ultimate  success. 
I  may  truly  say,  that  this  success  has  not  been  half  so  grateful  to  my  feel¬ 
ings  as  the  kind  sympathy  and  good-will  which  the  publication  has  drawn 
forth  from  my  countrymen,  both  at  home  and  abroad. 

Touching  the  “  Quarterly,” . I  had  half  a  mind,  when  I  learned 

from  your  letters  that  it  was  to  take  up  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  to 
send  out  the  last  American  edition,  for  the  use  of  the  reviewer  (who,  to 
judge  from  his  papers  in  the  “  Quarterly,”  has  a  quick  scent  for  blemishes, 
and  a  very  good  knowledge  of  the  Spanish  ground),  as  it  contains  more 
than  a  hundred  corrections  of  inadvertencies  and  blunders,  chiefly  verbal, 
in  the  first  edition.  It  would  be  hard,  indeed,  to  be  damned  for  sins 
repented  of ;  but,  on  the  whole,  I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  do  it, 
as  it  looked  something  like  a  sop  to  Cerberus  ;  and  so  I  determined  to 
leave  their  Catholic  Highnesses  to  their  fate.  Thanks  to  your  friendly 
interposition,  I  have  no  doubt,  this  will  be  better  than  they  deserve ;  and, 
should  it  be  otherwise,  I  shall  feel  equally  indebted  to  you.  Any  one  who 
has  ever  had  a  hand  in  concocting  an  article  for  a  periodical  knows  quan¬ 
tum  valet.  But  the  ot  noWoi  know  nothing  about  it,  and  of  all  journals 
the  “Edinburgh”  and  the  “Quarterly”  have  the  most  weight  with  the 
American,  as  with  the  English  public. 

You  are  now,  I  understand,  on  your  way  to  Italy,  after  a  campaign 
more  brilliant,  I  suspect,  than  was  ever  achieved  by  any  of  your  country¬ 
men  before.  You  have,  indeed,  read  a  page  of  social  life  such  as  few 
anywhere  have  access  to  ;  for  your  hours  have  been  passed  with  the  great, 
not  merely  with  those  bom  to  greatness,  but  those  who  have  earned  it  for 
themselves, 

“  Colla  penna  e  colla  spada.” 

In  your  progress  through  Italy,  it  is  probable  you  may  meet  with  a 
Florentine  nobleman,  the  Marquis  Capponi.11  Mr.  Ellis,12  in  a  letter 
from  Rome,  informed  me,  that  he  was  disposed  to  translate  “  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella  ”  into  the  Italian ;  and  at  his  suggestion  I  had  a  copy  for¬ 
warded  to  him  from  England,  and  have  also  sent  a  Yankee  one,  as  more 
free  from  inaccuracies.  I  only  fear  he  may  think  it  presumptuous.  H* 

11  The  Marquis  Gino  Capponi.  See  ante,  p.  175,  note. 

13  Rev.  Dr.  George  E.  Ellis,  of  Charlestown,  Mass. 


LETTER  TO  MR.  EVERETT. 


341 


had  never  seen  the  book,  and  I  can  easily  divine  fifty  reasons  why  he 
would  not  choose  to  plague  himself  with  the  job  of  translating  when  lie 
has  seen  it.  He  is  a  man  of  great  consideration,  and  probably  fully  occu¬ 
pied  in  other  ways.  But  after  the  intimation  which  was  given  me,  I  did 
not  choose  to  be  deficient  on  my  part ;  and  I  only  hope  he  may  under¬ 
stand,  that  I  do  not  flatter  myself  with  the  belief  that  lie  will  do  anything 
more  than  take  that  sort  of  interest  in  the  work  which,  as  one  of  the  lead¬ 
ing  savans  in  Italy,  I  should  wish  him  to  feel  for  it.  I  am  sincerely 
desirous  to  have  the  work  known  to  Continental  scholars  who  take  an 
interest  in  historical  inquiries.  I  shall  be  obliged  to  you  if  you  will  say 
this  much  to  him,  should  you  fall  in  with  him. 

I  shall  be  further  obliged  to  you,  should  you  return  to  London,  if  you 
will,  before  leaving  it  for  the  last  time,  ascertain  from  Bentley  whether  he 
is  making  arrangements  for  another  edition,  and  in  what  style.  I  should 
be  sorry  to  have  the  work  brought  out  in  an  inferior  dress,  for  the  sake  of 
the  tocher.  Above  all,  he  must  get  a  rich  portrait,  coute  que  coute,  of  my 
heroine.  I  have  written  him  to  this  effect,  and  he  has  promised  it,  but 
“  it  is  a  far  ciy  to  Loch  Awe,”  and,  when  a  man’s  publisher  is  three  thou¬ 
sand  miles  off,  he  will  go  his  own  gait.  I  believe,  however,  he  is  disposed 
to  do  very  fairly  by  me.  Thus  you  see  my  grat'tude  for  the  past  answers 
the  Frenchman’s  definition  of  it,  a  lively  sense  of  favors  to  come.  I 
shall  trust,  however,  without  hesitation,  to  the  same  frieudly  spirit  which 
you  have  hitherto  shown  for  my  excuse  in  your  eyes. 

Adieu,  my  dear  sir.  With  sincere  wishes  that  the  remainder  of  your 
pilgrimage  may  prove  as  pleasant  and  profitable  to  you  as  the  past  must 
have  been,  I  am  (if  you  will  allow  me  to  subscribe  myself) 

Very  truly  your  obliged  friend  and  servant, 

W m.  H.  Pbescott. 

TO  MR.  EVERETT.13 

Boston,  May  21,  1840. 

Mr  dear  Mr.  Everett, 

I  enclose  a  note  to  Mr.  Grahame,14  who  is  now  residing  at  Nantes  for 
the  benefit  of  his  daughter’s  health,  who,  as  Mr.  Ellis  informs  me,  is 
married  to  a  son  of  Sir  John  Herschel. 

Touching  the  kind  offices  I  wish  from  you  in  Paris,  it  is  simply  to 
ascertain  if  the  Archives  (the  Foreign  Archives,  I  think  they  are  called) 
under  the  care  of  Mignet  contain  documents  relating  to  Spanish  history 
during  the  reign  of  Philip  the  Second.  A  Mr.  Turnbull,16  who,  I  see,  is 
now  publishing  his  observations  on  this  country  and  the  West  Indies, 
assured  me  last  year,  that  the  French  government  under  Bonaparte  caused 
the  papers,  or  many  of  them,  relating  to  this  period,  to  be  transferred 
from  Simancas  to  the  office  in  Paris.  Mr.  Turnbull  has  spent  some  time 
both  in  Madrid  and  Paris,  and  ought  to  know.  If  they  are  there,  I  should 
like  to  know  if  I  can  obtain  copies  of  such  as  I  should  have  occasion  for, 

13  Mr.  Everett  was  then  about  embarking  for  Europe. 

14  J.  Grahame,  Esq.,  author  of  the  History  of  the  United  States. 

i*  D.  Turnbull,  Esq.,  who  published  a  book  on  Cuba,  &c.,  in  1840. 


312 


WILLIAM  HICKLLNG  PRESCOTT 


and  I  shall  be  obliged  by  your  advising  me  how  this  can  best  be  done.  1 
shall  not  attempt  to  make  a  collection,  which  will  require  similar  opera¬ 
tions  in  the  principal  capitals  of  Europe,  till  I  have  learnt  whether  I  can 
succeed  in  getting  what  is  now  in  Spain,  which  must  be,  after  all,  the 
principal  depot.  My  success  in  the  Mexican  collection  affords  a  good 
augury,  but  I  fear  the  disordered  condition  of  the  Spanish  archives  will 
make  it  very  difficult.  In  the  Mexican  affair,  the  collections  had  been  all 
made  by  their  own  scholars,  and  I  obtained  access  to  them  through  the 
Academy.  For  the  “  Philip  the  Second  ”  I  must  deal  with  the  govern¬ 
ment.  There  is  no  hurry,  you  know,  so  that  I  beg  you  will  take  your 
own  time  and  convenience  for  ascertaining  the  state  of  the  case. 

I  return  you  the  Lecture  on  Peru,  in  which  you  have  filled  up  the  out¬ 
lines  of  your  first.  Both  have  been  read  by  me  with  much  pleasure  and 
profit ;  though  it  must  be  some  years  before  I  shall  work  in  those  mines 
mvself,  as  I  must  win  the  capital  of  Montezuma  first. 

I  pray  you  to  offer  my  wife’s  and  my  own  best  wishes  to  Mrs.  Everett, 
and  with  the  sincere  hope  that  you  may  have  nothing  but  sunny  skies  and 
hours  during  your  pilgrimage,  believe  me,  my  dear  Mr.  Everett, 

Most  truly  and  faithfully  yours, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 


FROM  MR.  EVERETT. 


Paris,  July  27, 1840. 

Mr  dear  Sir, 

I  have  lost  no  time  in  instituting  inquiries  as  to  the  documents  which 
mav  be  accessible  in  Paris,  on  the  subject  of  Philip  the  Second.  My  first 
recourse  was  to  M.  Mignet.  He  is  the  keeper  of  the  Archives  in  the  De¬ 
partment  of  Foreign  Affairs.  From  him  l  learned  that  Ins  department 
contains  nothing  older  than  the  seventeenth  century.  I  learned  however, 
from  him,  that  Napoleon,  as  Mr.  Turnbull  informed  you,  caused  not  only 
a  part,  but  the  whole,  of  the  archives  of  Simancas  to  be  transferred  to 
Paris.  On  the  downfall  of  the  Empire,  everything  was  sent  back  to 
Spain,  excepting  the  documents  relating  to  the  History  of  France,  which, 
somehow  or  other,  remained.  These  documents  are  deposited  in  the 
Archives  du  Royaume,  Hotel  Soubise.  Among  them  is  the  correspondence 
of  the  successive  Ministers  of  Spain  in  France  with  their  government  at 
Madrid.  These  papers  are  often  the  originals  ;  they  are  not  bound,  nor 
indexed,  but  tied  up  in  Hasses,  and  M.  Mignet  represented  the  labor  ot 
examining  them  as  very  great.  He  showed  me  some  of  the  bund  es 
which  he  had  been  permitted  to  borrow  from  the  Archives  du  Royaume,  but 
[  did  not  perceive  wherein  the  peculiar  difficulty  of  examining  them  con¬ 
sisted.  He  has  examined  and  made  extracts  from  a  great  mass  ot  these 
documents  for  the  History  of  the  Reformation  which  he  is  writing.  He 
showed  me  a  large  number  of  manuscript  volumes,  containing  these 
extracts,  which  he  had  caused  to  be  made  by  four  copyists.  He  had  also 
similar  collections  from  Brussels,  Cassel,  and  Dresden,  obtained  through 
the  agency  of  the  French  Ministers  at  those  places.  I  have  made  an 
arrangement  to  go  to  the  Archives  du  Royaume  next  week,  and  see  these 


LETTER  FROM  MR.  EVERETT. 


343 


documents.  I  think  M.  Mignet  told  ine  there  were  nearly  three  hundred 
bundles,  and,  it'  I  mistake  not,  all  consisting  of  the  correspondence  of 
the  Ministers  of  Spain  in  France. 

My  next  inquiry  was  at  the  BMioth'eque  Hay  ale. 16  The  manuscripts 
there  are  under  the  care  of  an  excellent  old  friend  of  mine,  Professor  Hase, 
who,  in  the  single  visit  I  have  as  yet  made  to  the  library,  did  everything 
in  his  power  to  facilitate  my  inquiry.  In  this  superb  collection  will,  I 
think,  be  found  materials  of  equal  importance  to  those  contained  in  the 
Archives  da  Royaume.  A  very  considerable  part  of  the  correspondence  of 
the  French  Ministers  at  Madrid  and  Brussels,  for  the  period  of  your 
inquiry,  is  preserved,  —  perhaps  all ;  and  there  are  several  miscellaneous 
pieces  of  great  interest  if  I  may  judge  by  the  titles. 


FROM  MR.  EVERETT. 

Paris,  August  22,  1840. 

My  dear  Sir, 

Since  my  former  letter  to  you,  I  have  made  some  further  researches, 
on  the  subject  of  materials  for  the  History  of  Philip  the  Second.  I  passed 
a  morning  at  the  Archives  du  Royaume,  in  the  ancient  Hotel  Souhise, 
inquiring  into  the  subject  of  the  archives  of  Simancas  ;  and  in  an  inter¬ 
view  with  M.  Mignet,  he  was  good  enough  to  place  in  my  hands  a  report 
made  to  him,  by  some  one  employed  by  him,  to  examine  minutely  into 
the  character  and  amount  of  these  precious  documents.  They  consist  of 
two  hundred  and  eighty-four  bundles,  as  I  informed  you  in  my  former 
letter,  and  some  of  these  bundles  contain  above  a  couple  of  hundred  pieces. 
They  are  tied  up  and  numbered,  according  to  some  system  of  Spanish 
arrangement,  the  key  of  which  (if  there  ever  was  any)  is  lost.  They  do  not 
appear  to  follow  any  order,  either  chronological,  alphabetical,  or  that  of 
subjects;  and  an  ill-written,  but  pretty  minute  catalogue  of  some  of  the 
first  bundles  in  the  series  is  the  only  guide  to  their  contents.  M.  Mignet’s 
amanuensis  went  through  the  whole  mass,  and  looked  at  each  separate 
paper ;  and  this,  I  think,  is  the  only  way  in  which  a  perfectly  satisfactory 
knowledge  of  the  contents  of  the  collection  can  be  obtained.  I  had  time 
only  to  look  at  two  bundles.  I  took  them  at  a  venture,  being  Liasses  A 
55  and  A  56;  selecting  them,  because  I  saw  in  the  above-named  catalogue 
that  they  contained  papers  which  fell  within  the  period  of  the  reign  of 
Philip  the  Second.  I  soon  discovered  that  these  documents  were  far  from 
being  confined  to  the  correspondence  of  the  Spanish  Ministers  in  France. 
On  the  contrary,  I  believe,  not  a  paper  of  that  description  was  contained 
in  the  bundles  I  looked  at.  There  were,  however,  a  great  number  of 
original  letters  of  Philip  himself  to  his  foreign  Ministers.  They  appeared 
in  some  cases  to  be  original  draughts,  sometimes  corrected  in  his  own 
handwriting.  Sometimes  they  were  evidently  the  official  copies,  originally 
made  for  the  purpose  of  being  preserved  in  the  archives  of  the  Spanish 
government.  In  one  case,  a  despatch,  apparently  prepared  for  transmis¬ 
sion,  and  signed  by  Philip,  but  for  some  reason  not  sent,  was  preserved 

is  Now  the  Biblioth'eque  Imperiale. 


344 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT 


with  the  official  copy.  In  some  cases  there  wore  letters  m  several  difer- 
ent  states,  from  a  first  draught,  through  one  °r  two  eon^  tome,  Jll 
the  letter  was  reduced  to  a  satisfactory  condition.  This  was  strikingly  tie 
case  with  the  Latin  letter  to  Elizabeth  of  England,  of  23d  August,  1581 
warmly  expostulating  against  the  reception  of  Portuguese  fugitives,  and 
particularly  Don  Antonio,  and  threatening  war  if  h.s  wishes  were  not 
complied  with.  Further  reflection,  perhaps,  convinced  Philip,  that  this 
kind  of  logic  was  not  the  best  adapted  to  persuade  Queen  Elizabeth  and  a 
draught  of  another  letter,  minus  the  threat,  is  found  in  the  bundle  Of 

some  of  the  letters  of  Philip  I  could  not  form  a  satisfactory  idea  whether 
they  were  originals  or  copies,  and  if  the  latter,  in  what  stage  prepared. 
Those  of  this°class  had  an  indorsement,  purporting  that  they  were  m 
cipher  ”  in  whole  or  in  part.  Whether  they  were  deciphered  copies  of 
originals  in  cipher,  or  whether  the  indorsement  alluded  ‘°  wm  a  directmn 
to  have  them  put  in  cipher,  I  could  not  tell.  It  is,  in  fact,  a  point  of  no 
great  importance,  though  of  some  curiosity  in  the  literary  history  of  the 

letters  of  Philip,  the,.  «re  offlei.tl  ta.ht.  '' 
almost  every  description  ;  and  I  should  think,  from  what  I  saw  of  the 
contents  of  the  collection,  that  they  consist  of  the  official  papeis  emanating 
from  and  entering  the  private  cabinet  ot  the  king,  and  filed  awa>,  ti  e 
in  an  authentic  copy,  the  last  in  the  original,  from  day  t0  et 

ters  of  Philip,  though  not  in  his  handwriting,  were  evidently  written 
under  his  dictation;  and  I  confess,  the  cursory  inspection 
give  them  somewhat  changed  my  notion  of  h.s  character.  I  “W™*™ 
left  the  mechanical  details  of  government  to  his  Ministers,  but  these  paper 
exhibit  ample  proof  that  he  himself  read  and  answered  the  etters  of  h.s 
ambassadors.  Whether,  however,  this  was  the  regular  official  correspond¬ 
ence  with  the  foreign  Ministers,  or  a  private  correspondence  kept  up  by 
the  Kin-*  of  which  his  Secretaries  of  State  were  uninformed,  I  do  not 
know ;  but  from  indications,  which  I  will  not  take  up  your  mie  m 
detailing  I  should  think  the  former.  Among  the  papers  is  a  holograph 
Eer  of  Francis  the  First  to  the  wife  of  Charles  the  Fifth  after  the 
treaty  of  Madrid,  by  which  he  recovered  his  liberty.  They  told  me, 
tlie  Archives,  that  no  obstacles  existed  to  copying  these  documents,  and 
that  it  would  be  easy  to  find  persons  competent  to  examine  and  tranbcri  e 

them. 


TO  MR.  EVERETT. 


Nahant,  September  1,  1840. 

I  Javemc^ved^vour  letter  of  the  27th  of  July,  and  it  was  certainly 
very  kind  of  vou  to'be  willing  to  bury  yourself  in  a  musty  heap  of  parch- 
'  '  vour  arrival  in  the  most  brilliant  and  captivating  of 

EuEpcan  caffitl  ^should  have  asked  it  from  no  one,  and  should  have 
lien  surprised  at  it  in  almost  any  other  person.  Tour  memoranda  show 
that,  as  l  had  anticipated,  a  large  store  of  original  materials  for  I  lnlip 


LETTER  TO  MR.  EVERETT. 


345 


Second’s  reign  is  in  the  public  libraries  there ;  possibly  enough  to  author¬ 
ize  me  to  undertake  the  history  without  other  resources,  though  still  I  can¬ 
not  but  suppose  that  the  Spanish  archives  must  contain  much  of  para¬ 
mount  importance  not  existing  elsewhere.  I  have  received  from  Middle- 
ton  this  very  week  a  letter,  informing  me  that  lie  and  Dr.  Lembke,  my 
agent  in  Madrid,  have  been  promised  the  support  of  several  members  of 
government  and  influential  persons  in  making  the  investigations  there. 
By  a  paper,  however,  which  he  sends  me  from  the  archivero  of  Simancas,  I 
fear,  from  the  multitude  and  disorderly  state  of  the  papers,  there  will  be 
great  embarrassment  in  accomplishing  my  purpose.  I  wrote  some  months 
since  to  Dr.  Lembke,  —  who  is  a  German  scholar,  very  respectable,  and 
a  member  of  the  Spanish  Academy,  and  who  has  selected  my  documents 
for  the  “  Conquest  of  Mexico,”  —  that,  if  I  could  get  access  to  the  Madrid 
libraries  for  the  “  Philip  the  Second  ”  documents,  I  should  wish  to  com¬ 
plete  the  collection  by  the  manuscripts  from  Paris,  and  should  like  to  have 
him  take  charge  of  it.  It  so  happens,  as  I  find  by  the  letter  received 
from  Middleton,  that  Lembke  is  now  in  Paris,  and  is  making  researches 
relating  to  Philip  the  Second’s  reign.  This  is  an  odd  circumstance. 
Lembke  tells  him  (Middleton)  he  has  found  many,  and  has  selected  some 
to  be  copied,  and  that  he  thinks  he  shall  “  be  able  to  obtain  Mignet’s  per¬ 
mission  to  have  such  documents  as  are  useful  to  me  copied  from  his  great 
collection.” 


TO  MR.  EVERETT. 


Boston,  February  1, 1841. 

My  dear  Sir, 

I  must  thank  you  for  your  obliging  letter  of  November  27th,  in  which 
you  gave  me  some  account  of  your  disasters  by  the  floods,  and,  worse, 
from  illness  of  your  children.  I  trust  the  last  is  dissipated  entirely  under 
the  sunny  skies  of  Florence.  How  the  very  thought  of  that  fair  city  calls 
up  the  past,  and  brushes  away  the  mists  of  a  quarter  of  a  century !  For 
nearly  that  time  has  elapsed  since  I  wandered  a  boy  on  the  banks  of  the 
Arno. 

Here  all  is  sleet  and  “  slosh,”  and  in-doors  talk  of  changes,  political 
not  meteorological,  when  the  ins  are  to  turn  outs.  There  is  some  perplex¬ 
ity  about  a  Senator  to  Congress,  much  increased  by  your  absence  and  J. 
Q.  Adams’s  presence.  Abbott  Lawrence,  who  was  a  prominent  candidate, 
has  now  withdrawn.  It  seems  more  fitting,  indeed,  that  he  should  repre¬ 
sent  us  in  the  House  than  the  Senate.  Both  Choate 17  and  Dexter 18  have 
been  applied  to,  and  declined.  But  it  is  now  understood  that  Mr.  C.  will 
consent  to  go.  The  sacrifice  is  great  for  one  who  gives  up  the  best  prac¬ 
tice,  perhaps,  in  the  Commonwealth. 

If  you  remain  abroad,  I  trust,  for  the  credit  of  the  country,  it  will  be 
in  some  official  station,  which  is  so  often  given  away  to  unworthy  par¬ 
tisans.  There  is  no  part  of  our  arrangements,  probably,  which  lowers  ua 


17  The  Hon.  Rufus  Choate. 

16  The  Hon.  Franklin  Dexter,  Mr.  Prescott’s  brother-in-law. 
15* 


346 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


so  much  in  foreign  estimation,  as  the  incompetence,  in  one  way  or  another, 
of  our  representatives  abroad. 

1  have  received  the  books  from  the  Marquis  Cappcni  of  which  he  spoke 
to  you,  and  also  a  very  kind  letter  informing  me  of  the  arrangements  for 
the  translation  of  the  Catholic  Kings  into  the  beautiful  tongue  of  Petrarch 
and  Dante.  I  see,  from  the  Prospectus  which  he  sends  me,  that  I  am 
much  honored  by  the  company  of  the  translated.  The  whole  scheme  is  a 
magnificent  one,  and,  if  it  can  be  carried  through,  cannot  fail  to  have  a 
great  influence  on  the  Italians,  by  introducing  them  to  modes  of  thinking 
very  different  from  their  own.  I  suppose,  however,  the  censorship  still 
holds  its  shears.  It  looks  as  if  the  change  so  long  desired  in  the  copy¬ 
right  laws  was  to  be  brought  about,  or  the  Associates  could  hardly  expect 
indemnification  for  their  great  expenses.  Signor  Capponi  is,  I  believe,  a 
person  of  high  accomplishments,  and  social  as  well  as  literary  eminence. 
In  my  reply  to  him,  I  have  expressed  my  satisfaction  that  he  should  have 
seen  you,  and  taken  the  liberty  to  notice  the  position  you  have  occupied  in 
your  own  country  ;  though  it  may  seem  ridiculous,  or  at  least  superfluous, 
from  me,  as  it  is  probable  he  knows  it  from  many  other  sources. 

I  am  much  obliged  by  your  communication  respecting  the  “  Relazioni 
degli  Ambasciatori  Veneti.”  It  is  a  most  important  work,  and  I  have  a 
copy,  sent  me  by  Mariotti.  The  subsequent  volumes  (only  three  are  now 
published)  will  cover  the  reign  of  Philip  the  Second  and  supply  most 
authentic  materials  for  his  history,  and  I  must  take  care  to  provide  myself 
with  them.19  When  you  visit  Rome,  if  you  have  any  leisure,  I  shall  be 
obliged  by  your  ascertaining  if  there  are  documents  in  the  Vatican  ger¬ 
mane  to  this  subject.  Philip  was  so  good  a  sou  of  the  Church,  that  I 
think  there  must  be.  Should  \  ou  visit  Naples,  and  meet  with  an  old  gen¬ 
tleman  there,  Count  Camaldoli,  pray  present  my  sincere  respects  to  him. 
He  has  done  me  many  kind  offices,  and  is  now  interesting  himself  in  get¬ 
ting  some  documents  from  the  archives  of  the  Duke  of  Monte  Leone,  the 
representative  of  Cortes,  who  lives,  or  vegetates,  in  Sicily. 

Lembke  is  now  in  Paris,  and  at  work  for  me.  Sparks  is  also  there,  as 
you  know,  I  suppose.  He  has  found  out  some  rich  deposits  of  manu¬ 
scripts  relating  to  Philip,  in  the  British  Museum.  The  difficulty  will  be, 
I  fear,  in  the  embarras  de  ricliesses.  The  politics  of  Spain  in  that  reign 
were  mixed  up  with  those  of  every  court  in  Europe.  Isabel’s  were  for¬ 
tunately  confined  to  Italy  and  the  Peninsula. 

I  pray  you  to  remember  us  all  kindly  to  your  wife,  and  to  believe  >ne, 
my  dear  Mr.  Everett, 

Most  truly  your  obliged  friend, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 

19  The  “  Relazioni  degli  Ambasciatori  Veneti,”  published  by  Professor 
Eugenio  Alberi,  of  Florence,  —  a  scholar  whose  learning  fits  him  singularly 
for  the  task.  The  first  volume  was  published  in  1839,  and  I  think  the  fif¬ 
teenth  and  last  has  recently  appeared.  Meantime  Signor  Alberi  has  edited, 
with  excellent  skill,  the  works  of  Galileo,  in  sixteen  volumes.  1842  - 1856. 
He  assisted  Mr.  Prescott  in  other  ways. 


LITTER  FROM  MR.  EVERETT. 


347 


FROM  MR.  EVERETT. 

Florence,  September  21,  1841. 

My  dear  Sir, 

I  duly  received  your  favor  of  the  30th  of  April.  I  delayed  answering 
it  till  I  should  have  executed  your  commissions,  which,  upon  the  whole,  I 
have  done  to  my  satisfaction.  I  immediately  addressed  a  note  to  the 
Marquis  Gino  Capponi,  embodying  the  substance  of  what  you  sat  or.  the 
subject  of  his  offer  to  furnish  you  with  copies  of  his  “  Vent '..an  Rela¬ 
tions.”  He  was  then  absent  on  a  journey  to  Munich,  which  I  did  not 
know  at  the  time.  He  has  since  returned,  but  I  have  not  seen  him. 
Since  the  loss  of  his  sight,  he  leads  a  very  secluded  life,  and  is,  I  think, 
rarely  seen  but  at  M.  Vieusseux’s  Thursday-evening  Conversaziones ;  which, 
as  I  have  been  in  the  country  all  summer.,  I  have  not  attended.  I  infer 
from  not  hearing  from  him,  that  he  thinks  the  “Relazioni  ”  will  be  pub¬ 
lished  within  five  years,  and  that  consequently  it  will  not  be  worth  while 
to  have  them  transcribed.  But  I  shall  endeavor  to  see  him  before  my  de¬ 
parture.  The  Count  Pietro  Guicciardini  readily  placed  in  my  hands  the 
manuscripts  mentioned  by  you  in  yours  of  the  30th  of  April,  which  I 
have  had  copied  at  a  moderate  rate  of  compensation.  They  form  two  hun¬ 
dred  pages  of  the  common-sized  foolscap  paper,  with  a  broad  margin,  but 
otherwise  economically  written,  the  lines  near  each  other,  and  the  hand 
quite  close,  though  very  legible.  I  accidentally  fell  upon  copies  of  two 
autograph  letters  of  Philip  the  Second,  —  the  one  to  the  Pope,  the  other 
to  the  Queen  of  Portugal,  —  on  the  subject  of  the  imprisonment  of  Don 
Carlos,  while  I  was  in  search  of  something  else  in  the  Magliabecchian. 
They  are  not  intrinsically  very  interesting.  But,  considering  the  author 
and  the  subject,  as  they  are  short,  each  two  pages,  I  had  them  copied.  I 
experienced  considerable  difficulty  in  getting  the  document  in  the  “  Ar- 
chivio  Mediceo  ”  copied.  For  causes  which  I  could  not  satisfactorily  trace, 
the  most  wearisome  delays  were  interposed  at  every  step,  and  I  despaired 
for  some  time  of  success.  The  Grand  Duke,  to  whom  I  applied  in  per¬ 
son,  referred  the  matter,  with  reason,  to  the  Minister.  The  Minister  was 
desirous  of  obliging  me,  but  felt  it  necessary  to  take  the  opinion  of  the 
Official  Superintendent  of  the  department,  who  happens  to  be  the  Attor¬ 
ney-General,  who  is  always  busy  with  other  matters.  He  referred  it  to 
the  Chief  Archivist,  and  he  to  the  Chief  Clerk.  Fortunately  the  Archivio 
is  quite  near  my  usual  places  of  resort ;  and,  by  putting  them  in  mind  of 
the  matter  frequently,  I  got  it,  after  six  weeks,  into  a  form  in  which  the 
Minister,  Prince  Corsini,  felt  warranted  in  giving  a  peremptory  order  in 
my  favor. 


FROM  MR.  EVERETT. 


London,  April  SO,  1842. 

My  dear  Sir, 

I  have  to  thank  you  for  your  letter  of  the  27th  March,  which  I  have 
just  received,  and  I  am  afraid  that  of  the  29  !h  December,  which  you  sent 


348  WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 

me  by  Mr  Gayangos,  is  also  still  to  be  acknowledged.  After  playiug 
bo  neeyn  with  thlt  gentle, nan  all  winter,  I  requested  him  to  give  me  the 
tor  of Tis  company  at  breakfast  to-day.  I  had  Mr.  Hallam  and  Lord 
Mahon  who  1 J  been  in  Spain,  with  other  friends,  to  - 
found  him  an  exceedingly  pleasant,  intelligent  person.  I  hope  to 
more  of  him  during  the  summer,  which  he  passes  here. 

Mr  Rich  sent  me  the  other  day  a  copy  of  the  third  edition  of  your 
book  for  which  I  am  truly  obliged  to  you.  I  find  your  H. story  wherever 
I  cjo  ’  and  there  is  no  American  topic  which  is  oftener  alluded  to  in  all  t 
cities  which  I  frequent,  whether  literary  or  fashionable.  It  is  a  matter 
of  mineral  regret  that  you  are  understood  to  pass  over  the  reign  of  Charles 
the*5 Fifth  hT your  plans  for  the  future.  Mr.  Denison  expressed  himself 
very  stronMy  to  that  effect  the  other  day,  and,  though  everybody  does 
iusdce  to  the  motive  as  a  feeling  on  your  part,  I  must  say  that  I  have  n 
conversed  with  a  single  person  who  thinks  you  ought  to  consider  te 
around  as  preoccupied  by  Robertson.  He  was  avowedly  ignorant  of  all 
tl,e  German3 sources,  had  but  partial  access  to  the  Spanish  authorities  and 
tote  h"  in  a  manner  which  does  not  satisfy  the  requirements  of  the 

PTatdad  you  are  not  disappointed  in  the  manuscripts  I  procured  you 
at  Florence^  Thl  account  of  the  Tuscan  Minister  at  Madnd  ,s  o  course 

mmsCof  thT ArchiveTof ’ Simanc^' which  m'.'S*  Gayangos  tnU  get  you 
at  Paris  whatever  they  may  do  for  the  moral  character  of  Philip,  wil 

s  =-“s:r r 


TO  MR.  SUMNER. 


Peppekell,  September  11,  1842. 

Many  .hanka  for  your  kind  profit ton,  mj  ^  My  »*’• 

T  m^h  more  inexorable  persona*..  He  will  no. 

Conquistador ,  L  orte  ,  ,  ,  -r  omip  com  Dan  v,  and  tho 

cren.  me  a  furlongl.  for  .  TeS  in.o  my 

rbof rr‘r..Tm„rbneU. oJ  lines.  now  in  good  earneab  1 

S.  know  anything  w."  Pl=  ™  ““^0^^. 

however,  wi.h  a 

a,  To  vi.it  Sew  York  wi.h  Mr.  Snmner,  in  order  lo  hike  leave  of  Lord 
Morpeth,  then  about  to  embark  for  England. 

^Moving  from  PeppereU  to  Boston,  always  annoy  ing  to  hi  . 


LETTER  TO  MR.  EVERETT. 


349 


note  to  him,  and  will  send  it  to  you  by  the  20th.  If  you  should  leave 
before  that,  let  me  know,  as  I  will  not  fail  to  write  to  him.  He  must  be 
quite  aboriginal  by  this  time.22  Pray  get  all  the  particulars  of  his  tour 
out  of  him. 

Here  I  am  in  the  midst  of  green  fields  and  misty  mountains,  absolutely 
revelling  in  the  luxury  of  rustic  solitude  and  study.  Long  may  it  be 
before  I  shall  be  driven  back  to  the  sumum  strepitumque  Romas P 
Remember  me  kindly  to  Licber  and  Hillard,  and  believe  me. 

Ever  faithfully  yours, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 


TO  MR.  SUMNER. 

Peppekell,  October  4,  1842. 

I  am  truly  obliged  to  you,  my  dear  Sumner,  for  giving  me  the  carte  du 
pays  of  the  last  week  so  faithfully.  Why,  what  a  week  you  had  of  it !  You 
celebrated  our  noble  friend’s  departure  24  in  as  jolly  a  style  as  any  High¬ 
lander  or  son  of  green  Erin  ever  did  that  of  his  fi-iend’s  to  the  world  of 
spirits,  —  a  perpetual  wake,  —  wake,  indeed,  for  you  don’t  seem  to  have 
closed  your  eyes  night  or  day.  Dinners,  breakfasts,  suppers,  “  each  hue,” 
as  Byron  says,  “  still  lovelier  than  the  last.”  I  am  glad  he  went  off 
under  such  good  auspices,  —  New  York  hospitality,  and  you  to  share  it 
with  him.  Well,  peace  to  his  manes!  I  never  expect  to  see  another  peer  or 

commoner  from  the  vater-land  whom  I  shall  cotton  to,  as  Madam  B - 

says,  half  so  much. 

I  am  pegging  away  at  the  Aztecs,  and  should  win  the  mural  crown  in 
three  months,  were  I  to  stay  in  these  rural  solitudes,  where  the  only  break 
is  the  plague  of  letter-writing.  But  Boston ;  the  word  comprehends  more 
impediments,  more  friends,  more  enemies,  —  alas  !  how  alike,  —  than  one 
could  tell  on  his  fingers.  Addio  1  love  to  Hillard,  and,  when  you  write, 
to  Longfellow,  whom  I  hope  Lord  M.  will  see,  and  believe  me 
Very  affectionately  yours, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 


TO  MR.  EVERETT. 

Boston,  November  29,  1843. 

My  dear  Sir, 

It  was  very  kind  in  you  to  write  to  me  by  the  last  steamer,  when  you 
were  suffering  under  the  heavy  affliction  with  which  Providence  has  seen 
fit  to  visit  you.24  I  believe  there  can  scarcely  be  an  affliction  greater  than 

22  Lord  Morpeth  had  visited  some  of  our  North  American  Indians. 

28  This  quotation,  comparing  Boston  with  Rome  in  its  days  of  glory, 
reminds  one  irresistibly  of  the  words  of  Virgil’s  shepherd :  — 

“  Urbem  quam  dicunt  Romarn,  Melibcee  putavi, 

Stultus  ego,  huic  nostra;  similem.” 

24  Lord  Morpeth’s  embarkation  for  England. 

26  The  death  of  his  eldest  daughter,  —  singularly  fitted  to  gratify  affection 
and  to  excite  a  just  pride  in  her  parents- 


350 


WILLIAM  HICIvLING  PRESCOTT. 


that  caused  by  such  a  domestic  loss  as  yours ;  so  many  dear  ties  ’'.token, 
so  many  fond  hopes  crushed.  There  is  something  in  the  relation  of  a 
daughter  with  a  mind  so  ripe  and  a  soul  so  spotless  as  yours,  which  is 
peculiarly  touching,  and  more  so  perhaps  to  a  father’s  heart  than  to  any 
other.  There  is  something  in  a  female  character  that  awakens  a  more 
tender  sympathy  than  we  can  feel  for  those  of  our  own  sex,  —  at  least  I 
have  so  felt  it  in  this  relation.  I  once  was  called  to  endure  a  similar  mis¬ 
fortune.  But  the  daughter  whom  I  lost  was  taken  away  in  the  dawn  of 
life,  when  only  four  years  old.  Do  you  remember  those  exquisite  lines  of 
Coleridge,  — 

“  Ere  sin  could  blight,  or  sorrow  fade, 

Death  came  with  timely  care, 

The  opening  bud  to  heaven  conveyed, 

And  bade  it  blossom  there.” 

I  think  I  can  never  know  a  sorrow  greater  than  I  then  experienced. 

And  yet,  if  such  was  the  blow  to  me,  what  must  this  be  to  you,  where 
promise  has  ripened  into  so  beautiful  a  reality.  You  have,  indeed,  all  the 
consolation  that  can  be  afforded  by  the  recollection  of  so  delightful  a  char¬ 
acter,  and  of  a  life  that  seems  to  have  been  spent  in  preparation  for  a 
glorious  future.  Now  that  she  is  gone,  all  who  knew  her  —  and  there  are 
many  here  —  bear  testimony  to  her  remarkable  endowments,  and  the  sur 
passing  loveliness  of  her  disposition.  If  any  argument  were  needed,  the 
existence  and  extinction  here  of  such  a  being  would  of  itself  be  enough 
to  establish  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  It  would  seem  as  reasonable  to 
suppose,  that  the  blossom,  with  its  curious  organization  and  its  tendencies 
to  a  fuller  development,  should  be  designed  to  perish  in  this  immature 
state,  as  that  such  a  soul,  with  the  germ  of  such  celestial  excellence  within 
it,  should  not  be  destined  for  a  further  and  more  noble  expansion.  It  is 
the  conviction  of  this  immortality  which  makes  the  present  life  dwindle  to 
a  point,  and  makes  one  feel  that  death,  come  when  it  will,  separates  us  but 
a  short  space  from  the  dear  friend  who  has  gone  before  us.  Were  it  not 
for  this  conviction  of  immortality,  life,  short  as  it  is,  would  be  much 
too  long.  But  I  am  poorly  qualified  to  give  consolation  to  you.  Would 
that  I  could  do  it ! 

You  will  be  gratified  to  know  that  my  father,  of  whose  illness  I  gave 
you  some  account  in  my  last,  has  continued  to  improve,  and,  as  he  con¬ 
tinues  to  get  as  much  exercise  as  the  weather  of  the  season  will  permit, 
there  is  little  doubt  his  health  will  be  re-established. 

Before  this,  you  will  have  received  a  copy  of  the  “  Conquest  of  Mexico  ” 
from  Ilich,  I  trust.  When  you  have  leisure  and  inclination  to  look  into 
it,  I  hope  it  may  have  some  interest  for  you.  You  say  I  need  not  fear 
the  critical  brotherhood.  I  have  no  great  respect  for  them  in  the  main, 
but  especially  none  for  the  lighter  craft,  who,  I  suspect,  shape  their  course 
much  by  the  trade-winds.  But  the  American  public  defer  still  too  much 
to  the  leading  journals.  I  say,  too  much,  for  any  one  who  has  done  that 
sort  of  work  understands  its  value.  One  can  hardly  imagine  that  one 
critic  can  look  another  soberly  in  the  face.  Yet  their  influence  makes 
their  award  of  some  importance,  —  not  on  the  ultimate  fate  of  a  work, 
for  I  believe  that,  as  none  but  the  author  can  write  himself  up  pennanendy, 


LETTER  TO  MR.  EVERETT. 


351 


so  noDe  other  can  write  him  down.  But  for  present  success  the  opinion 
of  the  leading  journals  is  of  moment. 

My  parents  and  wife  join  with  me  in  the  expression  of  the  warmest 
sympathy  for  Mrs.  Everett,  with  which  believe  me,  my  dear  Mr.  Everett, 
Most  faithfully  yours, 

Wm.  H.  Peescott. 


TO  MR.  SUMNER. 


My  deae  Scmnee, 


Fitful  Head,  August  21, 1844. 


I  am  delighted  that  you  are  turning  a  cold  shoulder  to  JEsculapius, 
Galen,  and  tutti  quanti.  1  detest  the  whole  brotherhood.  I  have  always 
observed  that  the  longer  a  man  remains  in  their  hands,  and  the  more  of 
their  cursed  stuff  he  takes,  the  worse  plight  he  is  in.  They  are  the  bills 
I  most  grudge  pajnng,  except  the  bill  of  mortality,  which  is  very  often, 
Indeed,  sent  in  at  the  same  time. 

I  have  been  looking  through  Beau  Brummell.  ITis  life  was  the  triumph 
of  impudence.  His  complete  success  shows  that  a  fond  mother  should 
petition  for  her  darling  this  one  best  gift,  da,  Jupiter,  impudence  ;  and  that 
includes  all  the  rest,  wit,  honor,  wealth,  beauty,  &c.,  or  rather  is  worth 
them  all.  An  indifferent  commentary  on  English  high  life  ! 

Did  I  tell  you  of  a  pretty  present  made  to  me  the  other  day  by  an 
entire  stranger  to  me  ?  It  was  an  almond  stick  cut  in  the  woods  of  the 
Alhambra  at  Granada,  and  surmounted  by  a  gold  castellano  of  the  date  of 
Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  set  in  gold  on  the  head  of  the  stick,  which  was 
polished  into  a  cane.  The  coin  bears  the  effigies  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella, 
with  the  titles,  &c.,  all  somewhat  rudely  stamped.  Is  it  not  a  pretty  con¬ 
ceit,  such  a  present  1 

My  mother  has  been  quite  unwell  the  last  two  days,  from  a  feverish 
attack,  now  subsided  ;  but  we  were  alarmed  about  her  for  a  short  time. 
But  we  shall  still  “  keep  a  parent  from  the  sky,”  I  trust. 

Pray  take  care  of  yourself,  and  believe  me 

Always  faithfully  yours, 

Wm.  II.  Peescott. 


TO  MR.  EVERETT. 


Boston,  May  15,  1846. 

My  deae  Sie, 

I  take  the  liberty  to  enclose  a  note,  which  you  will  oblige  me  by  forward¬ 
ing  to  Mr.  Napier,  the  editor  of  the  “  Edinburgh  Review.” 28  If  anything 
additional  is  necessary  as  to  the  address,  will  you  have  the  goodness  to 
set  it  right  ? 

In  the  last  number  of  his  journal  is  a  paper  that  you  may  have  read, 
on  the  “  History  of  the  Conquest  of  Mexico,”  in  a  foot-note  of  which  the 

2®  To  correct  a  mistake  in  the  preceding  number  of  the  “  Edinburgh  Re¬ 
view.”  about  the  degree  of  his  blindness.  See  ante  p.  249 


352 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


re™„„  says  .hat  I  ha,.  to  ..  b. 

co°r.id”“dl™o„.-hli»<i.  Th.  nett.  thing  I  .hail  bear  f“"£ 

for,te  pooi  ri: 

KfZSsS  tr4rtb.nd  and  IsaWV'  deprived  ot  aiUsecf  my 
evcs  yetthcy  have  so  far  mended,  at  least  one  of  them,  -  for  the  other  is 

IZhk.  'But  vetv  likely  he  will  think  John  Bull  would  not  care  a  fig  if 

“ °We  areriifpc"  mtaed  to  be  represented  by  you,  though,  as  you  perceive 
more  from  a  vely  natural  dfflldence  onto  partof  any  one  »  suec^you 

£  ss 1 7op  V  zr.es  s£ 

SJhtarS?  Bn"  I  suppose  *ytro  Zve  heard  more  than  enough  on 
»  remember  me  kindly  to  Mrs.  Everett,  and  believe  me. 

my  dear  sir,  Yours  with  sincere  regard, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 


TO  MR.  SUMNER. 

Peppereli.,  August  15,  1845. 

Tlmnk  v“«nfofy”rbise.urse,  which  X  have  read  -  notes  and  .11- 
witTt  gZt  pleasure  and  great  instruction."  You  have  amassed  a  heap  of 

the  Peace  Society. 


LETTER  TO  MR.  SUMNER. 


353 


valuable  and  often  recondite  illustration  in  support  of  a  noble  cause.  And 
who  can  refuse  sympathy  with  the  spirit  of  philanthropy  which  has  given 
rise  to  such  a  charming  ideal  1  —  but  a  little  too  unqualified. 

“  There  can  be  no  war  that  is  not  dishonorable.”  I  can’t  go  along  with 
this  !  No  1  by  all  those  who  fell  at  Marathon ;  by  those  who  fought  at 
Morgarten  and  Bannockburn ;  by  those  who  fought  and  bled  at  Bunker’s 
Hill;  in  the  war  of  the  Low  Countries  against  Philip  the  Second, — in 
all  those  wars  which  have  had  —  which  are  yet  to  have  —  freedom  for 
their  object, —  I  can’t  acquiesce  in  your  sweeping  denunciation,  my  good 
friend. 

I  admire  your  moral  courage  in  delivering  your  sentiments  so  plainly 
in  the  face  of  that  thick  array  of  “  well-padded  and  well-buttoned  coats  of 
blue,  besmeared  with  gold,”  which  must  have  surrounded  the  rostrum  of 
the  orator  on  this  day.  I  may  one  day  see  you  on  a  crusade  to  persuade 
the  great  Autocrat  to  disband  his  million  of  fighting-men,  and  little  Queen 
Vic  to  lay  up  her  steamships  in  lavender  ! 

You  have  scattered  right  and  left  the  seeds  of  a  sound  and  ennobling 
morality,  which  may  spring  up  in  a  bountiful  harvest,  I  trust,  —  in  the 
Millennium,  —  but  I  doubt. 

I  shall  be  in  town  in  a  few  days,  when  I  shall  hope  to  see  you.  Mean* 
time  remember  me  kindly  to  Hillard,  and  believe,  dear  Sumner, 

Most  affectionately  yours, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 


TO  MR.  SUMNER. 


Highlands,  October  2,  1846. 

My  dear  Sumner, 

I  thank  you  heartily  for  your  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Oration,  which  I  re¬ 
ceived  a  few  days  since.  I  was  then  up  to  the  elbows  in  a  bloody  “  bat¬ 
tle-piece.”  29  I  thought  it  better  to  postpone  the  reading  of  it  till  I  could 
go  to  it  with  clean  hands,  as  befits  your  pure  philosophy. 

I  have  read,  or  rather  listened  to  it,  notes  and  all,  with  the  greatest  in¬ 
terest  ;  and  when  I  say  that  my  expectations  have  not  been  disappointed 
after  having  heard  it  cracked  up  so,  I  think  you  will  think  it  praise 
enough.  The  most  happy  conception  has  been  carried  out  admirably,  as 
if  it  were  the  most  natural  order  of  things,  without  the  least  constraint  or 
violence.  I  don’t  know  which  of  your  sketches  I  like  the  best.  I  am  in¬ 
clined  to  think  the  Judge’s.  For  there  you  are  on  your  own  heather,  and 
it  is  the  tribute  of  a  favorite  pupil  to  his  well-beloved  master,  gushing 
warm  from  the  heart.  Yet  they  are  all  managed  well,  and  the  vivid 
touches  of  character  and  the  richness  of  the  illustration  will  repay  the 
study,  I  should  imagine,  of  any  one  familiar  with  the  particular  science 


29  An  oration  entitled  “  Tho  Scholar,  the  Jurist,  the  Artist,  the  Philan¬ 
thropist,”  delivered  before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society  in  Harvard  College, 
1846.  It  is  mainly  devoted  to  a  delineation  of  the  characters  of  John  Pick¬ 
ering,  Esq.,  Judge  Story,  Washington  Allston,  the  artist,  and  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Ohanning.  Mr.  Prescott  alludes  here  to  one  phrase  in  it,  touching  the  artist! 
u  No  mere  battle-pieces.” 


354 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


you  discuss.  Then  your  sentiments  certainly  cannot  be  charged  with  in* 
consistency.  Last  year  you  condemned  wars  in  toto,  making  no  excep¬ 
tion  even  for  the  wars  of  freedom/10  This  year  you  condemn  the  represen¬ 
tation  of  war,  whether  by  the  pencil  or  pen.  Marathon,  Salamis,  Bunker 
Hill,  the  retreat  from  Moscow,  Waterloo,  great  and  small,  —  speaking 
more  forcibly  than  all  the  homilies  of  parson  or  philanthropist,  —  are  all 
to  be  blotted  from  memory,  equally  with  my  own  wild  skirmishes  of  bar¬ 
barians  and  banditti.  Lord  deliver  us  !  Where  will  you  bring  up  1  If 
the  stories  are  not  to  be  painted  or  written,  such  records  of  them  as  have 
been  heedlessly  made  should  by  the  same  rule  be  destroyed.  And  I  don’t 
see,  if  you  follow  out  your  progress  to  perfection,  but  what  you  will  one 
day  turn  out  as  stanch  an  Omar,  or  iconoclast,  as  any  other  of  gloriuos 
memory. 

I  laugh ;  but  I  fear  you  will  make  the  judicious  grieve. 

I  puer,  —  ut  dedainatio  Jias,  as  some  satirist  may  say. 

But  fare  thee  well,  dear  Sumner.  Whether  thou  deportest  thyself  sand 
mente  or  mente  insand,  believe  me 

Always  truly  yours, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 


TO  MR.  BANCROFT. 

Boston,  March  5,  1852. 

Mr  dear  Bancroft, 

Uncle  Isaac31  sent  me  yesterday  a  copy  of  your  new  volume,  and  you 
may  be  sure  it  occupied  me  closely  during  a  good  part  of  the  day.  Of 
course  I  could  only  glance  over  its  contents,  reading  with  a  relish  some 
of  the  most  striking  pictures,  —  at  least,  those  that  would  catch  the  eye 
most  readily  on  a  rapid  survey.  I  recognize  the  characteristic  touches  of 
your  hand  everywhere,  bold,  brilliant,  and  picturesque,  with  a  good  deal 
of  the  poetic  and  much  more  of  philosophy.  You  have  a  great  power  of 
condensing  an  amount  of  study  and  meditation  into  a  compact  little  sen¬ 
tence,  quite  enviable.  Your  introduction,  — your  description  of  the  work¬ 
ing  of  the  Reformation  in  its  Calvinistic  aspect  especially ;  your  remarks 
on  the  political  tendencies  of  the  Old  World  institutions  and  the  New 
World ;  your  quiet  rural  pictures  of  New  England  and  Acadian  scenes 
and  scenery ;  stirring  battle-pieces,  Quebec  in  the  foreground,  and  Brad- 
dock’s  fall,  and  Washington’s  rise,  —  told  very  simply  and  effectively ;  — 
I  have  read  these  with  care  and  much  interest.  Of  course  one  should  not 
pronounce  on  a  work  without  reading  it  through,  and  this  I  shall  do  more 
leisurely.  But  I  have  no  doubt  the  volume  will  prove  a  very  attractive 
one,  and  to  the  English  as  well  as  the  Yankee  reader,  though  to  the  Eng¬ 
lishman  it  opens  a  tale  not  the  most  flattering  in  the  national  annals. 

Why  did  you  not  mention  your  resources,  so  ample  and  authentic,  in 
your  Preface  '?  Every  author  has  a  right  to  do  this,  and  every  reader  has 
a  right  to  ask  it.  Your  references  do  not  show  the  nature  of  them  suf 

See  the  last  preceding  ’etter,  dated  August  15,  1846. 

81  Isaac  P.  Davis,  Esq.,  uncle  to  Mrs.  Bancroft. 


LETTER  TO  ME.  BANCROFT. 


355 


ficiently,  as  I  think.  But  I  suppose  you  have  your  reasons.  I  am 
glad  you  have  another  volume  in  preparation,  and  I  can  only  say,  God 
speed ! 

With  kind  remembrances  to  your  wife,  believe  me,  my  dear  Bancroft, 
Faithfully  yours, 

Wm.  H.  Pkescott. 


TO  mi.  BANCROFT. 

Boston,  December  20,  1852. 

Thank  you,  dear  Bancroft,  for  the  second  volume  of  the  work  immor¬ 
tal.  It  gives  me  a  mingled  sensation  of  pleasure  and  pain  to  receive  it ; 
pleasure  to  see  what  you  have  done,  pain  at  the  contrast  with  what  I  have 
done  the  last  year  or  two.  But  it  will  operate  as  a  spur  to  my  enterprise, 

I  hope. 

I  have  only  glanced  over  the  volume,  and  listened  carefully  to  the  first 
chapters.  It  is  a  volume  not  to  be  taken  at  a  leap,  or  at  a  sitting,  es¬ 
pecially  by  an  American.  You  have  given  a  noble  platform  for  the  Revo¬ 
lution  by  making  the  reader  acquainted  with  the  interior  of  English  and 
Continental  politics  beyond  any  other  work  on  the  subject.  I  admire  the 
corn-age  as  well  as  the  sagacity  you  have  shown  in  your  chapter  on  the 
English  institutions,  &c.  You  have  made  John  Bull  of  the  nineteenth 
century  sit  for  his  portrait  of  the  eighteenth,  and  rightly  enough,  as  the 
islander  changes  little  but  in  date.  I  do  not  know  how  he  will  like  the 
free  commentaries  you  have  made  on  his  social  and  political  characteris¬ 
tics.  But  if  he  is  tolerably  candid  he  may  be  content.  But  honest  Bull, 
as  you  intimate,  is  rather  insular  in  his  notions,  bounded  by  the  narrow 
seas.  There  is  more  depth  than  breadth  in  his  character. 

Now  that  your  side  has  won  the  game,  I  wonder  if  you  will  be  tempted 
away  from  the  historic  chair  to  make  another  diplomatic  episode.32  I 
shall  be  sorry,  on  the  whole,  if  you  are ;  for  life  is  fleeting,  though  art  be 
long,  and  you  arc  now  warm  in  harness,  running  your  great  race  of  glory 
well.  I  wonder  if  Mrs.  B.  does  not  agree  with  me  ?  Yet  St.  James’s 
might  offer  a  sore  temptation  to  any  one  that  could  get  it. 

Thackeray  dines  —  at  least  I  have  asked  him  —  with  me  on  Thursday. 
I  wish  you  could  make  one  of  a  partie  carrtfe  with  him. 

With  much  love  to  your  dear  lady,  believe  me,  dear  Bancroft, 
Affectionately  yours, 

Wm.  H.  Pkescott. 


TO  MR.  BANCROFT. 


Boston,  January  8,  1856. 

Dear  Bancroft, 

It  was  very  kind  in  you  to  take  the  trouble  to  read  my  volumes  through 
»o  carefully,  and  to  give  me  the  results  of  your  examination.33  I  am  not 


82  The  success  of  the  Democratic  party  in  the  elections  of  1852. 
88  The  first  two  volumes  of  the  “  History  of  Philip  the  Second.” 


356 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


a  little  pleased  that  these  are  so  favorable  to  me.  It  is  no  flattery  to  say 
that  your  opinion,  with  the  allowance  of  the  grain  —  perhaps  a  bushel  — 
of  salt  on  the  score  of  friendship,  is  of  more  value  to  me  than  almost  any 
other  person’s  in  the  community;  you  are  so  familiar  with  the  ground  of 
the  historian,  and  know  from  experience  so  well  what  difficulties  lie  in  his 
path.  The  verbal  inaccuracies  you  have  pointed  out  I  shall  give  heed  to, 
as  well  as  the  two  blunders  of  date  and  spelling.  With  respect  to  the 
French  discourse  at  the  abdication,34  that  is  right.  Flemish  was  the  lan¬ 
guage  of  the  people,  but  French  was  more  commonly  used  by  the  nobility. 
It  was  the  language  of  the  court,  and  historians  expressly  state  that  on 
this  occasion  Philip  excused  himself  from  addressing  the  States  on  the 
ground  of  his  inability  to  speak  French.  Cateau-Cambresis  is  also  right, 
being  the  modern  French  usage.  It  is  so  written  by  Sismondi,  by  tho 
editor  of  the  “  Granvelle  Papers,”  and  in  the  latest  geographical  gazet¬ 
teers. 

The  book  has  gone  off  very  well  so  far.  Indeed,  double  the  quantity, 
I  think,  has  been  sold  of  any  of  my  preceding  works  in  the  same  time.  1 
have  been  lucky,  too,  in  getting  well  on  before  Macaulay  has  come  thun¬ 
dering  along  the  track  with  his  hundred  horse-power.  I  am  glad  to  hear 
yju  say  that  his  Catholic  Majesty  is  found  in  so  many  houses  in  New 
York.  I  have  had  some  friendly  notices  from  that  great  Babylon.  Noth¬ 
ing  has  pleased  me  more  than  a  note  which  I  received  last  week  from 
Irving  (to  whom,  by  the  by,  I  had  omitted  to  send  a  copy),  written  in  his 
genial,  warm-hearted  manner.  My  publishers,  whose  reader  had  got  into 
rather  a  hot  discussion  with  the  “  Tribune,”  I  understand,  had  led  me  to 
expect  a  well-peppered  notice  from  that  journal.  But  on  the  contrary,  an 
able  article,  from  the  pen,  I  believe,  of  Mr.  Ripley,  who  conducts  the  lit¬ 
erary  criticisms  in  its  columns,  dealt  with  me  in  the  handsomest  manner 
possible.  Some  fault  was  found,  —  not  so  much  as  I  deserve,  —  mixed 
up  with  a  good  deal  of  generous  approbation ;  a  sort  of  criticism  more  to 
my  taste  than  wholesale  panegyric. 


I  cannot  conclude  this  collection  of  letters  to  the  three  emi¬ 
nent  American  statesmen,  with  whom  Mr.  Prescott  most  freely 
corresponded,  better  than  with  the  following  remarks  on  his 
conversation  by  his  friend  Mr.  Parsons.  “  Never,  perhaps,” 
says  Mr.  Parsons,  “  did  he  suggest  political,  or  rather  party 
questions.  He  was  himself  no  partisan  and  no  extremist  on 
any  subject.  He  had  valued  friends  in  every  party,  and  could 
appreciate  excellence  of  mind  or  character  in  those  who  differed 
from  him.  But  in  this  country,  where  all  are  free  to  be  as  prej¬ 
udiced  and  violent  as  they  choose, —  and  most  persons  take 
great  care  that  this  right  shall  not  be  lost  for  want  of  use,  —  it 
is  seldom  that  political  topics  can  be  discussed  with  warmth. 


84  Of  Charles  the  Fifth. 


CONVERSATION  ON  POLITICAL  SUBJECTS. 


357 


but  without  passion,  or  without  the  personal  acerbity,  which 
offended  not  only  his  good  taste,  but  his  good  feelings.  Per¬ 
haps  he  never  sought  or  originated  political  conversation  ;  but 
he  would  not  decline  contributing  his  share  to  it ;  and  the  con¬ 
tribution  he  made  was  always  of  good  sense,  of  moderation,  and 
of  forbearance.” 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


1852-1854, 


Death  of  Mb.  Pbescott’s  Mother.  —  Progress  with  “  Phtt.tp  tub 
Second.”  —  Correspondence. 


UT  while  Mr.  Prescott,  after  his  return  from  England, 


q  p  was  making  such  spirited  advances  with  his  work  on 
“  Philip  the  Second,”  and  taking  avowed  satisfaction  in  it, 
another  of  the  calamities  of  life,  for  which  loiesight  is  no  prep¬ 
aration,  came  upon  him.  On  Monday,  the  17th  of  May,  1852, 
in  the  forenoon,  a  gentleman  whom  I  met  in  the  street  stopped 
to  tell  me  that  Mrs.  Prescott,  the  mother  of  my  friend,  was 
very  ill.  I  had  seen  her  only  two  evenings  before,  when  she 
was  in  her  own  chamber,  slightly  indisposed,  indeed,  but  still 
in  her  accustomed  spirits,  and  seeming  to  enjoy  life  as  much  as 
she  ever  had.  I  was  surprised,  therefore,  by  the  intelligence, 
and  could  hardly  believe  it.  But  I  hastened  to  the  house,  and 
found  it  to  be  true.  She  had  been  ill  only  a  few  hours,  and 
already  the  end  was  obviously  near.  How  deeply  that  afflic¬ 
tion  wras  felt  by  her  son  I  shall  not  forget ;  nor  shall  I  forget 
the  conversation  I  had  with  him  in  the  afternoon,  when  all  was 
over.  Ilis  suffering  was  great.  He  wept  bitterly.  But  above 
every  other  feeling  rose  the  sense  of  gratitude  for  what  he  had 
ow'ed  to  his  mother’s  love  and  energy. 

The  impression  of  her  loss  remained  long  on  his  heart.  In 
the  subsequent  July,  when  he  went,  as  usual,  to  Nahant,  he 
writes :  — 

July  4th,  1852.  —  Nahant,  where  we  came  on  the  first,  — cold,  dreary 
and  desolate.  I  miss  the  accustomed  faces.  All  around  me  how  changed, 
yet  not  the  scene.  There  all  is  as  it  always  has  been.  The  sea  makes  its 
accustomed  music  on  the  rocks  below.  But  it  sounds  like  a  dirge  to  me. 
Yet  I  will  not  waste  my  time  in  idle  lament.  It  will  not  bring  back  the 
dead,  —  the  dead  who  still  live,  and  in  a  happier  world  than  this. 

He  did  not,  in  fact,  recover  a  tolerable  measure  of  spirits 
until  he  reached  Pepperell  in  the  autumn. 


LETTER  TO  LADY  LYELL. 


359 


“  Left  Nahant,”  he  says,  “  September  6th,  and  came  to  the  Highlands 
September  9th,  full  of  good  intent.  Delicious  solitudes ;  safe  even  from 
friends  —  for  a  time  1  Now  for  the  Spanish  battle-cry,  ‘  St.  Jago,  and 
at  them  !  ’  ” 


But  three  months  later  he  writes  :  — 

December  4th.  —  St.  Jago  has  not  done  much  for  me  after  all.  The 
gods  won’t  help  those  that  won’t  help  themselves.  I  have  dawdled  away 
my  summer,  and  have  only  to  show  for  it  Chapter  XII.,  thirty-five  pages 
of  text  and  four  pages  of  notes.  Fie  on  it !  I  am  now  well  read  up  for 
Chapter  XIII.,  and  —  I  mean  to  have  a  conscience  and  reform.  We  left 
Pepperell  October  26th. 

In  the  winter  of  1852-3  he  made  good  progress  again  in 
his  work  ;  at  least  such  progress  as  encouraged  him,  if  it  was 
not  very  rapid.  By  the  15th  of  May  he  had  written  the  thir¬ 
teenth  and  fourteenth  chapters  of  the  Second  Book,  and  the 
first  chapter  of  Book  Third,  making  about  ninety  pages  in 
print.  October  3d  he  had  gone  on  a  hundred  and  sixty  pages 
farther  ;  and,  although  he  did  not  account  it  “  railroad  speed,” 
he  knew  that  it  was  an  improvement  on  what  he  had  done 
some  months  before.  He  was,  therefore,  better  satisfied  with 
himself  than  he  had  been,  and  more  confident  of  success. 


TO  LADY  LYELL. 

Boston,  January  11,  1853. 

You  have  no  idea  of  the  weather  you  left  behind  you  here.1  The  ther¬ 
mometer  is  at  50°  at  noon  to-day,  and  the  trees  on  the  Common  seem 
quite  puzzled  as  to  what  to  do  about  it.  We  took  our  cold,  raw  weather 
when  you  were  here,  at  the  bottom  of  Long  Wharf,  in  Copp’s  Hill 
burying-ground,  and  the  bleak  Dorchester  drive,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
afternoon,  when  the  great  jet  would  not  play  for  your  entertainment.  You 
have  not  forgotten  these  pleasant  rambles,  now  that  you  are  so  far  away. 
Thackeray  has  left  us.  His  campaign  was  a  successful  one,  and  he  said, 
“  It  rained  dollars.”  He  dined  with  me  thrice,  and  was  in  good  flow  of 
spirits  till  a  late  hour  generally.  He  went  much  to  the  Ticknors  also.  I 
do  not  think  he  made  much  impression  as  a  critic.  But  the  Thackeray 
vein  is  rich  in  what  is  better  than  cold  criticism. 

1  Sir  Charles  and  Lady  Lyell  had  now  made  a  second  visit  to  the  United 
States. 


360 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


TO  LADY  LYELL. 


Boston,  March  1, 1853. 

At  length  I  have  the  pleasure  to  send  you  the  little  nothings  by 
Colonel  Lawrence,  viz.  a  miniature  pencil-case,  to  be  worn  round  the 
neck,  for  ornament  more  than  use.  hem,  an  ivory  stylus,  more  for  use 
than  ornament  (the  worse  for  wear,  having  been  pared  away,  as  it  re¬ 
quired  sharpening  an  inch  or  more),  with  which  I  wrote  all  the  “  Conquest 
of  Mexico.”  I  gave  to  dear  Mrs.  Milman  the  stylus  that  indited  “Peru.” 
Anna  Ticknor  has  the  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  ”  one.  My  wife  says  she 
will  not  accept  the  one  with  which  I  am  doing  the  Philippics.  As  that  is 
agate-pointed,  I  think  it  will  be  able  to  run  off  as  long  a  yam  as  I  shall 
care  to  spin. 


TO  MRS.  MILMAN. 

Pepperell,  September  16,  1853. 

Mr  dear  Mrs.  Milman, 

By  the  steamer  which  sailed  this  week  I  have  done  myself  the  pleasure 
to  send  you  a  couple  of  volumes,  called,  “  Six  Months  in  Italy.”  It  is  a 
book  lately  given  to  the  world  by  a  friend  of  mine,  Mr.  Hillard,  an  emi¬ 
nent  lawyer  in  Boston,  but  one  who  has  found  leisure  enough  to  store  his 
mind  with  rich  and  various  knowledge,  and  whose  naturally  fine  taste  fits 
him  for  a  work  like  the  present.  The  subject  has  been  worn  out,  it  is 
true,  by  book-makers  ;  but  Hillard  has  treated  it  in  an  original  way,  and 
as  his  style  is  full  of  animation  and  beauty,  I  think  the  volumes  will  be 
read  with  pleasure  by  you  and  by  my  good  friend  your  husband. 

Since  I  last  wrote  to  you  the  Lyells  have  made  their  Crystal  Palace 
trip  to  the  New  World,  and  passed  some  days  with  me  at  the  seaside  ; 
and,  as  Lady  Lyell  has  perhaps  told  you,  I  afterwards  accompanied  her  to 
New  York.  It  was  a  great  pleasure  to  see  them  again,  when  we  thought 
we  had  bid  them  a  long,  if  not  a  last  adieu.  But  that  is  a  word  that 
ought  not  to  be  in  our  vocabulary.  They  are  to  pass  next  winter,  1 
believe,  in  the  Canaries.  They  put  a  girdle  round  the  earth  in  as  little 
time  almost  as  Puck. 

My  travels  are  from  town  to  seaside,  and  from  seaside  to  country.  And 
here  I  am  now  among  the  old  trees  of  Pepperell,  dearer  to  me  than  any 
other  spot  I  call  my  own. 

The  Lyells  have  been  with  us  here,  too,  and  I  believe  Lady  Lyell  likes 
my  Pepperell  home  the  best.  It  is  a  plain  old  farm,  recommended  by  a 
beautiful  country,  glistening  with  pretty  streams  of  water,  well  covered 
with  woods,  and  with  a  line  of  hills  in  the  background  that  aspire  to  the 
dignity  of  mountains.  But  what  endears  it  most  to  me  is  that  it  has  been 
the  habitation  of  my  ancestors,  and  my  own  some  part  of  every  year  from 
childhood.  It  is  too  simple  a  place,  however,  not  to  say  rude,  to  take  any 
but  an  intimate  friend  to. 


LETTERS  TO  LADY  LYELL. 


361 


Pray  remember  me  most  kindly  to  your  husband,  and  believe  me,  my 
dear  Mrs.  Milman,  now  and  always, 

Affectionately  yours, 

Wm.  H.  Pbescott. 


TO  LADY  LYELL. 

Boston,  December  25,  1853. 

A  merry  Christmas  to  you,  dear  Lady  Lyell,  and  to  Lyell  too,  and 
good  orthodox  mince-pies  to  celebrate  it  with.  I  wonder  where  you  are 
keeping  it.  Not  where  you  will  find  it  kept  in  as  genial  a  way  as  in  Old 
England.  How  much  your  countrymen,  by  the  by,  are  indebted  to 
Washington  Irving  for  showing  the  world  what  a  beautiful  thing  Christ¬ 
mas  is,  or  used  to  be,  in  your  brave  little  island.  I  was  reading  his 
account  of  it  this  morning,  stuffed  as  full  of  racy  old  English  rhymes  as 
Christmas  pudding  is  of  plums.  Irving  has  a  soul,  which  is  more  than 
one  can  say  for  most  writers.  It  is  odd  that  a  book  like  this,  so  finely 
and  delicately  executed,  should  come  from  the  New  World,  where  one 
expects  to  meet  with  hardly  anything  more  than  the  raw  material. 

I  don’t  know  anything  that  has  been  stirring  here  of  late  that  would 
have  interest  for  you,  or  for  us  either,  for  that  matter.  It  has  been  a  quiet 
winter,  quiet  in  every  sense,  for  the  old  graybeard  has  not  ventured  to 
shake  his  hoary  locks  at  us  yet,  or  at  least  he  has  shed  none  of  them  on 
the  ground,  which  is  as  bare  as  November.  This  is  quite  uncommon  and 
very  agreeable.  But  winter  is  not  likely  to  rot  in  the  sky,  and  we  shall 
soon  see  the  feathers  dancing  about  us. 


TO  LADY  LYELL. 

Boston,  February  26,  1864. 

I  dined  with  the  Ticknors  on  Friday  last,  a  snug  little  party,  very 
pleasant.  Anna  has  been  in  good  health  this  winter,  and  in  ver) 
good  spirits.  Good  kind  friends  they  are,  and  if  you  want  to  find  it,  be  a 
little  ill,  or  out  of  sorts  yourself,  and  you  will  soon  prove  it. 

I  have  been  tolerably  industrious  for  me  this  winter,  and  I  hope  to  be 

in  condition  to  make  a  bow  to  the  public  by  the  end  of  the  year . 

You  have  heard  that  my  publishers,  the  Harpers,  were  burnt  out  last 
December.  They  lost  about  a  million  ;  one  third  perhaps  insured.  It  is 
said  they  have  as  much  more  left.  I  should  have  made  by  the  fire,  as 
they  had  about  half  an  edition  of  each  of  my  books  on  hand,  which  they 
had  paid  me  for.  But  I  could  not  make  money  out  of  their  losses,  and  I 
told  them  to  strike  off  as  many  more  copies,  without  charging  them. 
Ticknor  did  the  same.  If  all  their  authors  would  do  as  much  by  them, 
they  would  be  better  off  by  at  least  a  couple  of  hundred  thousand  dollars 
than  their  report  now  shows. 

16 


362 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


TO  LADY  LYELL. 


Boston,  May  15,  1854. 

I  am  hard  at  work  now  on  a  very  amiable  chapter  in  the  “  History  of 
Philip  the  Second,”  the  affair  of  Don  Carlos,  for  which  I  fortunately  have 
a  good  body  of  materials  from  different  quarters,  especially  Spain.  A 
romantic  subject,  Carlos  and  Isabella,  is  it  not  1  Those  who  have  read 
Schiller,  and  Alfieri,  and  Lord  John  Russell,  who  wrote  a  long  tragedy  on 
the  matter,  may  think  so.  But  truth  is  a  sturdy  plant,  that  bears  too  few 
of  the  beautiful  flowers  that  belong  to  fiction,  and  the  historian,  who  digs 
up  the  dry  bones  of  antiquity,  has  a  less  cheering  occupation  than  the 
poet,  who  creates  and  colors  according  to  his  own  fancy..  Some  people, 
however,  think  history  not  much  better  than  poetry,  as  far  as  fact  is  con¬ 
cerned.  Those  are  most  apt  to  think  so  who  are  let  behind  the  scenes. 


TO  DEAN  MIL  MAN. 


Lynn,  July  24,  1854. 

My  deae  Ekiend, 

I  had  the  pleasure  of  receiving  a  few  days  since  a  copy  of  your  “  History 
of  Latin  Christianity,”  which  you  were  so  kind  as  to  send  me  through 
Murray,  and  for  which  I  am  greatly  obliged  to  you.  As  I  glance  over 
the  rich  bill  of  fare  which  the  “  Contents”  hold  out,  I  only  regret  that  I 
have  not  the  eyes  to  go  into  it  at  once  in  a  more  thorough  manner  than 
can  be  done  with  the  ear.  But  a  recent  strain  of  the  nerve  just  before  I 
left  town  has  so  far  disabled  me,  that  for  some  weeks  I  have  scarcely  ven¬ 
tured  to  look  at  the  contents  of  a  book.  I  have,  however,  listened  to  some 
portions  of  it,  sufficient  to  give  me  an  idea  of  the  manner  in  which  the 
work  has  been  executed.  I  have  been  particularly  struck  with  your  ad¬ 
mirable  account  of  Becket,  and  the  formidable  struggle  which  the  proud 
priest,  in  the  name  of  religion,  carried  on  with  the  royalty  of  England. 
I  had  thought  myself  pretty  well  acquainted  with  the  earlier  portions  of 
English  history,  but  I  have  nowhere  seen  the  motives  and  conduct  of  the 
parties  in  that  remarkable  struggle  so  clearly  unveiled.  As  you  come 
down  to  later  times,  the  subject  may  have  greater  interest  for  the  general 
reader ;  but  yet  it  can  hardly  exceed  in  interest  those  portions  of  the 
present  volumes  which  discuss  those  great  events  and  institutions  the 
influence  of  which  is  still  felt  in  the  present  condition  of  society. 

I  am  not  sufficiently  familiar  with  ecclesiastical  history  to  make  my 
opinion  of  any  value,  it  is  true.  Yet  there  are  some  points  in  the  exe¬ 
cution  of  such  a  work  which  may  be  apprehended  by  readers  not  bred  in 
any  theological  school ;  and  I  am  sure  I  cannot  be  mistaken  when  I  ex¬ 
press  the  firm  conviction  that  these  volumes  will  prove  every  way  worthy 
of  the  enviable  reputation  which  you  now  enjoy,  both  as  a  scholar  and  a 
friend  of  humanity. 

I  have  been  bringing  my  long-protracted  labors  on  the  first  two  volumes 


LETTER  TO  LADY  LYELL. 


363 


of  my  “Philip  the  Second”  to  a  close.  I  have  made  arrangements  for 
their  publication  next  spring  in  England  and  the  United  States,  though  1 
may  be  yet  longer  delayed  by  the  crippled  condition  of  my  eyes. 


TO  LADY  LYELL. 

Peppkrell,  September  27,  1854. 

Dear  Lady  Lyell, 

Here  we  are  in  old  Pepperell,  after  a  week  in  which  we  have  been  in  all 
the  hubbub  of  the  transition  state.  We  have  come  much  later  than  usual, 
for  Lynn,  with  its  green  fields  and  dark  blue  waters,  and  the  white  sails 
glistening  upon  them  under  a  bright  September  sun,  was  extremely 
lovely.  Indeed,  I  think,  if  we  were  not  so  much  attached  to  the  old  farm, 
we  should  hardly  have  thought  it  worth  while  to  come  here  for  a  month, 
as  we  now  do,  and  as  we  always  shall  do,  I  suppose.  In  fact,  the  topsy¬ 
turvy  life,  and  all  the  bustle  of  moving  from  seaside  to  town,  and  town  to 
country,  is  something  like  travelling  on  a  great  scale,  and  forms  a  very 
good  substitute  for  it,  just  as  that  mammoth  water-lily,  the  Victoria  Kegia, 
which  you  and  I  saw  at  Sion  House,  and  which  had  always  depended  on 
a  running  stream  for  its  existence,  did  just  as  well  by  Paxton’s  clever  in¬ 
vention  of  keeping  up  a  turmoil  in  a  tank.  The  lily  thought  she  was  all 
the  while  in  some  bustling  river,  and  expanded  as  gloriously  as  if  she  had 
been.  I  rather  think  the  tank  sort  of  turmoil  is  the  only  one  that  we  shall 
have ;  at  all  events,  that  my  better  half  will,  who  I  think  will  never  see 
the  vision  even  of  New  York  before  she  dies.  We  have  had  a  dismal 
drought  all  over  the  country,  which  lasted  for  more  than  two  months. 
Luckily,  the  September  rains  have  restored  the  vegetation,  and  the  coun¬ 
try  looks  everywhere  as  green  as  in  the  latter  days  of  spring.  Then  there 
is  an  inexpressible  charm  in  the  repose,  a  sort  of  stillness  which  you  al¬ 
most  hear,  poetice,  in  the  soft  murmurs  and  buzzing  sounds  that  come  up 
from  the  fields  and  mingle  with  the  sounds  made  by  the  winds  playing 
among  the  trees.  It  makes  quite  an  agreeable  variety  to  the  somewhat 
oppressive  and  eternal  roar  of  the  ocean.  The  wind  as  it  sweeps  through 
the  forest  makes  a  music  that  one  never  wearies  of.  But  I  did  get  tired 
of  the  monotonous  beat  of  the  ocean.  I  longed  for  another  tone  of 
Nature’s,  and  now  I  have  got  it. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


RlIEUM  ATISM  AT  NAHANT. — BOSTON  HOMES  SUCCESSIVELY  OCCUPIED  El 
Mr.  Prescott  in  Tremont  Street,  Summer  Street,  Bedford  Street, 
and  Beacon  Street.  —  Patriarchal  Mode  of  Life  at  Pepperell. 
—  Life  at  Nahant  and  at  Lynn. 

DURING  the  year  1852-53,  Mr.  Prescott  was  much 
troubled  with  rheumatism,  more  than  he  had  been  for 
a  long  time,  and  was  led  seriously  to  consider  whether  his 
residence  at  Nahant,  and  his  summer  life  on  the  edge  of  the 
ocean,  must  not  be  given  up.  He  did  not  like  the  thought, 
but  could  not  avoid  its  intrusion.  Home  was  always  a  word 
of  peculiar  import  to  him,  and  any  interference  with  his  old 
habits  and  associations  in  relation  to  it  was  unwelcome. 

Most  of  these  associations  had  been  settled  for  many  years, 
and  belonged  especially  to  Boston.  From  1808,  when  he  was 
only  twelve  years  old,  his  proper  home,  as  we  have  seen,  was 
always  there,  under  the  same  roof  with  his  father  for  thirty- 
six  years,  and  with  his  mother  for  forty-four. 

The  first  house  they  occupied  was  on  Tremont  Street,  at  the 
head  of  Bumstead  Place,  and  the  next  was  in  Summer  Street, 
contiguous  to  Chauncy  Place,  both  now  pulled  down  to  make 
room  for  the  heavy  brick  and  granite  blocks  demanded  by 
commerce.  Afterwards  they  lived,  for  a  few  years,  at  the 
corner  of  Otis  Place,  nearly  opposite  their  last  residence  ;  but 
in  1817,  Mr.  Prescott  the  elder  purchased  the  fine  old  mansion 
in  Bedford  Street,  where  they  all  lived  eight  and  twenty  years. 
In  1845,  the  year  following  the  death  of  the  venerable  head  of 
the  household,  the  remainder  of  the  family  removed  to  No.  55 
in  Beacon  Street,  the  last  home  of  the  historian  and  his  moth¬ 
er’s  last  home  on  this  side  the  grave. 

As  long  as  his  father  lived,  which  was  until  Mr.  Prescott 
himself  was  forty-eight  yeai’s  old,  and  until  all  his  children  had 
been  bom,  there  was  a  patriarchal  simplicity  in  their  way  of 
life  that  was  not  to  be  mistaken.  The  very  furniture  of  the 


HOMES  IN  BOSTON. 


365 


goodly  old  house  in  Bedford  Street  belonged  to  an  earlier 
period,  or,  at  least,  though  rich  and  substantial,  it  gave  token 
of  times  gone  by.  The  hospitality,  too,  that  was  so  freely 
exercised  there,  and  which,  to  all  who  were  privileged  to  enjoy 
it,  was  so  attractive,  had  nothing  of  pretension  about  it,  and 
very  little  of  recent  fashion.  It  was  quiet,  gentle,  and  warm¬ 
hearted.  Sometimes,  but  rarely,  large  parties  were  given,  and 
always  on  Thanksgiving-day,  our  chief  domestic  festival  in 
New  England,  the  whole  of  the  family,  in  all  its  branches, 
was  collected,  and  the  evening  spent,  with  a  few  very  intimate 
friends,  in  merry  games.  Once,  I  remember,  Sir  Charles  and 
Lady  Lyell  were  added  to  the  party,  and  shared  heartily  in  its 
cordial  gayety,  —  romping  with  the  rest  of  us,  as  if  they  had 
been  to  the  manner  born.1 

The  establishment  in  Beacon  Street,  where  the  historian 
spent  the  last  thirteen  winters  of  his  life,  was  more  modern 
and  elegant,  lie  had  fitted  it  carefully  to  his  peculiar  wants 
and  infirmities,  and  then  added  the  comforts  and  luxuries  of 
the  time.  But  the  hearty  hospitality  which  had  always  been 
enjoyed  under  the  old  trees  in  Bedford  Street  was  not  want¬ 
ing  to  his  new  home.  He  had  inherited  it  from  his  grand¬ 
father  and  his  father,  and  it  was,  besides,  a  part  of  liis  own 
nature.  There  was  always  a  welcome,  and  a  welcome  suited 
to  each  case,  —  to  the  stranger  who  called  from  curiosity  to 
see  one  whose  name  was  familiar  in  both  hemispheres,  and  to 
the  friend  who  entered  uninvited  and  unannounced.  No  house 
among  us  was  more  sought,  none  more  enjoyed. 

But  Mr.  Prescott  never  spent  the  whole  of  any  one  year  in 
Boston.  In  childhood,  he  was  carried  every  summer,  at  least 
once,  to  visit  his  grandmother  in  the  family  homestead  at  Pep- 
perell.  His  father  held  such  visits  to  be  both  a  pleasure  and 
a  duty.  The  youthful  son  enjoyed  them  as  happy  seasons  of 
holiday  relaxation  and  freedom.  Both  of  them  naturally  in¬ 
creased  there  a  sort  of  familiar  affection  and  intimacy,  which 

1  Since  this  was  written,  I  have  fallen  on  a  letter  of  Lady  Lyell  to  Mr. 
Prescott,  dated  January  7,  1857,  in  which  she  says:  “  Shall  I  ever  forget  the 
Thanksgiving  in  Bedford  Street  ?  Never,  as  long  as  I  live.  It  is  now  more 
than  fifteen  years  ago,  but  still  I  see  the  rooms,  the  dinner-table,  the  blind- 
man's-buff,  and  the  adjournment  to  your  study  to  see  Lord  Kingsborough’s 
‘  Mexico.’  ” 


366 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PBESCOTT. 


in  the  bustle  of  the  town  and  amidst  the  engrossing  cares  of 
the  father  s  professional  life  could  not  be  so  thoroughly  rooted 
and  cultivated. 

While  the  venerable  grandmother  lived,  nothing  could  be 
more  simple  than  the  ways  and  manners  in  that  old  house, 
which  was  only  one  of  the  better  sort  of  New  England  farm¬ 
houses  ;  small  for  our  times,  but  not  so  accounted  when  it  was 
built.  Its  furniture  was  comfortable,  but  already  old,  and 
dating  from  a  period  when  grace  and  taste  in  such  things  were 
little  considered.  Its  fare  was  country  fare,  abundant,  health¬ 
ful,  and  keenly  enjoyed  with  appetites  earned  by  wandering 
about  the  large,  tine  farm,  and  breathing  the  pure  mountain 
air  of  the  region.  None  were  gathered  there,  however,  at  this 
period,  except  the  members  of  the  little  family,  which,  though 
of  three  generations,  numbered  as  yet  only  six  persons.  In¬ 
deed,  there  was  hardly  room  for  more,  and,  besides  this,  the 
aged  head  of  the  household  could  not  well  enjoy  any  society 
save  that  of  the  persons  nearest  to  her,  for  she  had  long  been 
infirm,  and  was  now  nearly  blind.  But  it  was  good  for  them 
all  to  be  there.  The  influences  of  the  place  were  salutary  and 
happy. 

After  the  death  of  the  much-loved  grandmother  in  1821, 
at  the  age  of  eighty-eight,  a  good  deal  of  this  was  naturally 
changed.  The  essential  characteristics  of  the  quiet  homestead 
were  indeed  preserved,  and  are  to  this  day  the  same.  But 
the  two  elder  children  of  Mr.  Prescott  were  already  married, 
and  room  was  to  be  found  for  them  and  for  their  families.  A 
study  was  built  for  the  future  historian,  that  he  might  devote 
himself  undisturbed  to  his  books,  and  other  additions  were  made 
for  hospitality’s  sake.  Everything,  however,  was  done  in  the 
most  unpretending  way,  and  in  keeping  with  the  simplicity  of 
the  place  and  its  associations. 

At  this  period  it  was  that  I  first  became  acquainted  with 
Pepperell,  and  began,  with  my  family,  still  young,  to  visit  there 
a  few  days  or  more  every  summer,  when  it  was  in  our  power 
to  do  so ;  a  practice  which  we  continued  as  long  as  the  elder 
Mr.  Prescott  lived,  and  afterwards  until  both  our  households 
had  become  so  large  that  it  was  not  always  easy  to  accommo¬ 
date  them.  But  although,  in  one  way  or  another,  the  old 


PEPPERELL. 


367 


house  at  Pepperell  was  often  full,  and  sometimes  crowded,  yet 
so  happy  were  the  guests,  and  so  glad  were  the  two  or  three 
families  there  to  receive  their  many  friends,  that  no  incon¬ 
venience  was  felt  on  either  side. 

Mr.  Prescott  the  elder  was  nowhere  so  completely  himself 
as  he  was  at  Pepperell ;  I  mean,  that  his  original  character 
came  out  nowhere  else  so  naturally  and  fully.  He  was  about 
sixty  years  old  when  I  first  saw  him  there,  after  having  long 
known  him  familiarly  in  Boston.  He  was  very  dignified,  mild, 
and  prepossessing  in  his  general  appearance  everywhere ;  a 
little  bent,  indeed,  as  he  had  long  been,  but  with  no  other  mark 
of  infirmity,  and  not  many  indications  of  approaching  age.  But 
in  Pepperell,  where  the  cares  of  professional’  life  were  entirely 
thrown  off,  he  seemed  another  man,  younger  and  more  vigor¬ 
ous.  His  step  on  the  soil  that  gave  him  birth  was  moi'e  elastic 
than  it  was  elsewhere,  and  his  smile,  always  kind  and  gentle, 
had  there  a  peculiar  sweetness.  He  loved  to  walk  about  the 
fields  his  father  had  cultivated,  and  to  lounge  under  the  trees 
his  father  had  planted.  Most  of  his  forenoons  were  spent  in 
the  open  air,  superintending  the  agricultural  improvements  he 
understood  so  well,  and  watching  the  fine  cattle  with  which 
he  had  stocked  his  farm,  much  to  the  benefit  of  the  country 
about  him. 

After  dinner,  he  preferred  to  sit  long  at  table,  and  few  were 
so  young  or  so  gay  that  they  did  not  enjoy  the  mild  wisdom  of 
his  conversation,  and  the  stirring  recollections  and  traditions 
with  which  his  memory  was  stored,  and  which  went  back  to 
the  period  when  the  spot  where  we  were  then  so  happy  was 
not  safe  from  the  Indian’s  tomahawk.  Later  in  the  afternoon 
we  generally  took  long  drives,  sometimes  long  walks,  and  in 
the  evening  we  read  together  some  amusing  book,  commonly  a 
novel,  and  oftener  than  any  others,  one  of  Sir  Walter  Scott’s 
or  Miss  Edgeworth’s.  They  were  very  happy  days. 

The  walks  and  drives  about  Pepperell  and  its  neighborhood 
are  pleasant  and  cheerful,  but  hardly  more.  It  is  a  broken 
country,  well  watered  and  well  cultivated,  and  the  woodlands, 
now  somewhat  diminished  by  the  encroachments  of  civilization, 
were,  at  the  time  of  which  I  speak,  abundant  and  rich,  espe¬ 
cially  on  the  hills.  How  much  the  historian  enjoyed  this  free 


308 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


and  open  nature,  we  have  already  had  occasion  often  to  notice, 
and  shall  find  that  it  continued  to  the  last.  Everything  at 
Pepperell  was  familiar  and  dear  to  him  from  the  days  of  his 
childhood. 

There  is  a  charming  shady  walk  behind  the  house,  looking 
towards  the  Monadnock  mountain,  and  there  many  a  chapter 
of  his  Histories  was  composed,  or  conned  over  and  fitted  for  the 
noctograph.  On  the  other  side  of  the  road  is  an  old  grove  of 
oaks,  which  he  used  to  call  the  “  Fairy  Grove,”  because  under 
its  spreading  shades  he  had  told  his  children  stories  about  fairies, 
who  danced  there  on  moonlight  nights  and  brushed  away  the 
gathering  dews  from  the  grass.  In  the  “Fairy  Grove”  he 
walked  before  dinner,  and,  as  he  loved  companionship  at  that 
time  of  the  day,  I  have  walked  many  a  mile  with  him  in  the 
path  his  feet  had  worn  deep  in  the  sod.  Farther  on  is  a  piece 
of  his  woodland,  to  winch  he  had  given  the  name  of  “  Bloody 
Grove,”  because  he  had  associated  it  with  a  wild  tradition  of 
the  Indian  times.  There,  but  more  rarely,  we  walked  in  the 
rich  twilight  of  our  summer  evenings.  It  was  too  far  off  from 
the  house  to  be  much  frequented. 

The  drives  were  no  less  agreeable,  and,  like  the  walks,  had 
their  old  associations  and  fancy  names,  in  which  we  all  de¬ 
lighted.  One  was  Jewett’s  Bridge,  over  the  Nashua,  between 
Pepperell  and  Groton,  where,  when  his  grandfather  had  gone 
to  fight  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill,  and  had  taken  all  the  able- 
bodied  men  with  him,  the  women,  dressed  in  their  husbands’ 
clothes,  mounted  guard  with  muskets  and  pitchforks,  and  abso¬ 
lutely  arrested  a  man  who  was  in  the  interest  of  the  enemy, 
and  took  from  his  boots  dangerous  papers,  which  they  sent  to 
the  Committee  of  Safety.2  Another  of  the  favorite  drives  was 
through  rich  meadows  and  woodlands,  which  in  the  declining 
light  of  the  long  afternoons  were  full  of  gentle  beauty,  and  this 
he  called  the  “  Valley-Forge  Drive,”  in  memory  of  one  of  the 
darkest  and  most  honorable  periods  of  Washington’s  military 
life,  although  the  association  was  provoked  only  by  the  cir¬ 
cumstance  that  in  one  of  the  hollows  which  we  used  to  pass 
there  was  a  large  blacksmith’s-forge.  And  yet  another,  the 
longest  drive  of  all,  was  to  a  bright  valley,  where  in  a  hillside 
*  See  Butler's  “  History  of  Groton,"  (Boston,  8vo,  1848,1  n.  4B6. 


PEPPERELL. 


369 


the  farmer  who  lived  hard  by,  mistaking  pyrites  for  silver  ore, 
had  gradually  wrought  a  long  gallery  in  the  solid  rock,  chiefly 
with  his  own  hands,  sure  that  he  should  find  hidden  treasure 
at  last,  but  died  without  the  sight.  And  tliis  little,  quiet  valley 
was  always  called  “  Glen  Withershins,”  in  memory  of  Edie 
Ochiltree,  who  was  a  great  favorite  in  the  old  homestead  at 
Pepperell.3 

But  wherever  the  afternoon  drives  or  walks  led  us,  or  what¬ 
ever  were  the  whimsical  associations  connected  with  them,  they 
were  always  cheerful  and  happy  hours  that  we  thus  passed 
together.  The  woods  were  often  made  merry  with  our  shouts 
and  laughter ;  for  the  parties  after  dinner  were  never  small, 
and  no  cares  or  anxious  thoughts  oppressed  any  of  us.  We 
were  young,  or  at  least  most  of  us  were  so,  when  these  gay 
local  associations  were  all  settled,  and,  as  we  grew  older,  we 
enjoyed  them  the  more  for  the  happy  memories  that  rested  on 
them.  Certainly  we  never  wearied  of  them. 

Anter  the  death  of  the  elder  Mr.  Prescott,  his  son  preserved, 
as  far  as  was  possible,  the  accustomed  tone  and  modes  of  life  in 
his  old  rural  home.  Three  generations  could  still  be  gathered 
there,  and  the  house  was  enlarged  and  altered,  but  not  much, 
to  accommodate  their  increasing  numbers.  It  was  the  son’s 
delight,  as  it  had  been  his  father’s,  not  only  to  have  his  own 
friends,  but  the  friends  of  his  children,  share  his  cordial  hospi¬ 
tality  ;  and,  if  their  number  was  often  large  enough  to  fill  all 
the  rooms  quite  as  full  as  they  should  be,  it  was  never  so  large 
as  to  crowd  out  the  truest  enjoyment.4 

8  In  the  evenings  of  one  of  our  visits,  we  read  aloud  the  whole  of  “  The 
Antiquary,”  and  I  well  remember,  not  only  how  it  was  enjoyed  throughout, 
but  how  particular  parts  of  it  were  especially  relished.  Edie’s  patriotism,  in 
the  last  chapter  but  one,  where  that  delightful  old  beggar,  with  not  a  penny 
in  the  world,  enumerates  the  many  rich  blessings  he  would  fight  for,  if  the 
French  should  invade  Scotland,  brought  tears  into  the  eyes  of  more  than  one 
of  the  party,  including  the  elder  Mr.  Prescott. 

4  Sometimes,  indeed  not  unfi  equontly,  he  fancied  that  he  should  like  to 
live  at  Pepperell  eight  months  in  the  year,  or  even  longer.  But  the  thought 
of  the  snow-drifts,  and  the  restraints  and  seclusion  which  our  rigorous  winters 
imply  under  the  circumstances  of  such  a  residence,  soon  drove  these  fancies 
from  his  mind.  Their  recurrence,  however,  shows  how  strong  was  his  at¬ 
tachment  to  Pepperell.  Of  this,  indeed,  there  can  be  no  doubt;  but  perhaps 
the  most  striking  illustration  of  it  is  to  be  found  in  the  fact,  that,  in  whatever 
testamentary  arrangements  he  at  different  times  made,  there  was  always 


370 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


But,  besides  his  houses  in  Boston  and  Pepperell,  Mr.  Pres¬ 
cott  lived  for  many  years  a  few  weeks  of  every  summer  on  the 
sea-coast.  This  habit  was  adopted  originally  less  for  his  own 
sake  than  for  that  of  his  father,  who,  on  the  approach  of  old 
age,  found  the  air  of  the  ocean  important  to  him  during  the  hot 
season.  As  they  had  always  lived  together  in  town,  so  now 
they  built  their  house  together  at  Nahant,  about  fourteen  miles 
from  Boston  ;  a  rocky  peninsula  which  juts  out  so  far  into  the 
ocean,  that  even  our  most  parching  southwest  winds  in  July 

special  and  tender  regard  shown  to  this  old  farm,  which  his  grandfather  had 
rescued  from  the  primeval  forest,  and  which  he  himself  held,  as  his  father 
had  done,  by  the  original  Indian  title.  The  fact  to  which  I  refer  is,  that  in 
successive  wills  he  entailed  the  Pepperell  estate  in  the  strictest  manner, 
although  he  perfectly  well  knew,  at  the  time  he  did  it,  that  any  heir  of  his 
to  whom  it  might  descend  could,  by  the  very  simple  provisions  of  our  statutes, 
break  the  entail,  and  convert  the  estate  into  an  ordinary  inheritance,  as  un¬ 
fettered  by  conditions  as  if  he  had  bought  it.  This,  however,  made  no  dif¬ 
ference  to  Mr.  Prescott.  “It  was,”  as  Mr.  Gardiner,  who  drew  the  wills  in 
question,  truly  says,  —  “It  was  a  matter  of  pure  sentiment;  for  the  estate 
is  of  very  moderate  value  as  a  piece  of  salable  property,  not  at  all  worthy,  in 
that  view,  of  unusual  pains  to  preserve  it  for  the  benefit  of  remote  descend¬ 
ants.  Nor  had  Mr.  Prescott,  in  truth,  the  smallest  desire  to  perpetuate  wealth 
in  connection  with  his  name  to  a  distant  generation.  Property  in  general  he 
was  content  to  leave,  after  the  death  of  those  who  were  personally  dear  to 
him,  and  for  whom  he  made  special  provisions,  to  the  common  operation 
of  the  laws  of  the  land,  and  the  accidents  of  life.  Wealth  he  regarded  only 
for  its  uses,  and  valued  no  more  than  other  men.  But  his  little  Pepperell 
farm,  simple  and  unostentatious  as  it  is,  he  was  as  fond  and  as  proud  of  as  any 
baron  of  England  is  of  his  old  feudal  castle,  and  for  very  similar  reasons 
Hence  he  had  the  strongest  desire  that  these  few  acres  of  native  soil,  which 
had  been  long  in  the  family,  —  the  home  especially  of  the  old  hero  of  Bun¬ 
ker  Hill,  the  favorite  resort  of  that  hero’s  son,  the  learned  lawyer  and  judge, 
and  afterwards  of  his  grandson,  the  historian,  —  should  always  be  held  un¬ 
divided  by  some  one  of  the  same  name,  blood,  and  lineage.  He  well  under¬ 
stood.  indeed,  that  he  had  no  power  in  law  to  prevent  the  heir  in  tail  from 
defeating  this  purpose;  but  he  hoped  and  trusted  that  nothing  but  a  last 
necessity  would  induce  an  inheritor  of  his  blood  to  part  with  such  a  patrimo¬ 
nial  possession  for  the  little  money  it  would  produce.  At  any  rate,  he  in¬ 
tended,  so  far  as  was  possible  by  his  own  act  and  will,  to  secure  its  perpetual 
family  transmission;  though  he  duly  estimated  the  chances  that  this,  in  the 
course  of  human  vicissitudes,  might  not  hold  out  for  many  generations  be¬ 
yond  those  which  he  could  himself  see. 

“  He  attached  similar  feelings  even  to  the  old  and  valueless  furniture  of  his 
grandsires,  some  relics  of  which  remained  in  the  Pepperell  house;  and,  since 
he  could  not  entail  them,  like  the  land,  he  takes  care  to  bequeath  all  the 
movables  of  the  house  and  farm  to  the  first  tenant  in  tail,  who  should  come 
into  possession  of  the  estate,  with  a  request  that  he  would  use  means  tn 
transmit  them  to  his  successors." 


NAHANT. 


371 


and  August  are  much  cooled  by  the  waves  before  they  reach 
it.  The  purchase  of  the  land  was  made  in  1828,  the  year  Mr. 
Prescott  the  elder  retired  from  the  bar ;  and  their  cottage  of 
two  stories  —  built  without  the  slightest  architectural  preten¬ 
sions,  but  full  of  resources  for  comfort,  and  carefully  fitted  to  its 
objects  and  position  — -  was  occupied  by  them  the  next  summer. 
In  a  hot  day  it  is  the  coolest  spot  of  the  whole  peninsula,  and 
therefore  among  the  coolest  on  the  whole  line  of  our  coast. 
There,  with  the  exception  of  the  summer  at  Pepperell,  follow¬ 
ing  his  father’s  death,  and  that  of  1850,  which  he  passed  in 
England,  he  spent  eight  or  ten  weeks  of  every  season  for  five 
and  twenty  years. 

As  he  said  in  one  of  his  letters,  — 

The  house  stands  on  a  bold  cliff  overlooking  the  ocean,  —  so  near  that 
in  a  storm  the  spray  is  thrown  over  the  piazza,  —  and  as  it  stands  on  the 
extreme  point  of  the  peninsula,  it  is  many  miles  out  at  sea.  There  is 
more  than  one  printed  account  of  Nahant,  which  is  a  remarkable  watering- 
place,  from  the  bold  formation  of  the  coast  and  its  exposure  to  the  ocean. 
It  is  not  a  bad  place  —  this  sea-girt  citadel  —  for  reverie  and  writing,  with 
the  music  of  the  winds  and  waters  incessantly  beating  on  the  rocks  and 
broad  beaches  below.  This  place  is  called  “  Titful  Head,”  and  Norna’s 
was  not  wilder. 

He  had,  however,  different  minds  about  Nahant  at  different 
periods,  and  generally  felt  more  or  less  misgiving  as  to  its  bene¬ 
fits  each  year  just  before  he  was  to  begin  his  summer  residence 
there.  Sometimes  he  thought  that  the  strong  reflection  from 
the  bright  ocean,  which  often  filled  the  air  with  a  dazzling 
splendor,  was  hurtful  to  his  impaired  sight.  Almost  always 
he  perceived  that  the  cool  dampness,  which  was  so  refreshing, 
increased  his  rheumatic  tendencies.  And  sometimes  he  com¬ 
plained  bitterly  that  his  time  was  frittered  away  by  idlers  and 
loungers,  who  crowded  the  hotels  and  cottages  of  that  fashion¬ 
able  watering-place,  and  who  little  thought  how  he  suffered 
as  they  sat  gossiping  with  him  in  his  darkened  parlor  or  on 
his  shady  piazza.6  But  wherever  he  might  live,  as  he  well 

6  His  Memoranda  contain  much  on  this  annoyance  of  company.  In  one 
place  he  says :  “I  have  lost  a  clear  month  here  by  company,  —  company 
which  brings  fhe  worst  of  all  satieties ;  for  the  satiety  from  study  brings  the 
consciousness  of  improvement.  But  this  dissipation  impairs  health,  spirits, 
scholarship.  Yet  how  can  I  escape  it,  tied  like  a  bear  to  a  stake  here?  I 
will  devise  some  way  another  year,  or  Nahant  shall  be  ‘  Nae  haunt  of  mine,’ 


S72 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


knew,  his  life  would  be  beset  with  all  its  old  infirmities,  and 
as  for  visitors,  bis  kindly  nature  and  social  propensities  would 
never  permit  him  to  be  rigorous  with  liis  friends,  and  still  less 
with  the  strangers  who  were  attracted  by  his  reputation,  and 
whose  calls  it  might  seem  churlish  to  refuse.  He  therefore 
made  the  best  he  could  of  his  residence  at  Nahant,  even  after 
he  had  begun  to  entertain  a  serious  doubt  about  its  effects. 
This  was  natural.  The  sharp,  tonic  air  of  the  ocean  undoubt¬ 
edly  invigorated  him  for  his  work,  and  kept  down,  m  part  at 
least,  his  troublesome  dyspepsia,6  while,  at  the  same  time, 
taking  his  principal  exercise  on  horseback  in  the  long  twilight 
of  our  summer  evenings,  he  avoided,  to  a  great  degree,  the 
injurious  effects  of  the  dazzling  noonday  splendors  of  the  place. 
But  his  rheumatism  at  last  prevailed.  It  was  clearly  aggra¬ 
vated  by  the  damp  air  which  penetrated  everywhere  at  Nahant, 
and  against  which  flannels  and  friction  were  a  very  imperfect 
defence. 

As,  therefore,  he  approached  the  confines  of  old  age,  he 
found  that  he  must  make  some  change  in  his  modes  of  life, 
and  arrange,  if  possible,  some  new  compromise  with  his  con¬ 
flicting  infirmities.  But  he  hesitated  long.  While  his  fathci 
lived,  who  found  great  solace  at  Nahant,  he  never  failed  to 
accompany  him  there  any  more  than  to  Pepperell,  and  never 
seemed  to  shrink  from  it  or  to  regret  it,  so  important  to  him 
was  the  society  of  that  wise  and  gentle  old  man,  and  so  neces¬ 
sary  to  his  daily  happiness. 

But  after  his  father’s  death,  and  again  after  his  mother’s,  the 
place  in  his  eyes  changed  its  character.  It  became  cold,  dreary, 
and  desolate ;  it  wanted,  as  he  said,  the  accustomed  faces.  The 
last  strong  link  that  connected  him  with  it  was  broken,  and  he 

ns  old  Stewart  [the  portrait-painter]  used  to  say.”  And  in  a  letter  to  me 
about  the  same  time,  August,  1840,  he  says:  “  We  are  here  in  a  sort  of 
whirligig, —  company  morning,  noon,  and  night, — company  to  dine  twice  a 
week,  —  and,  in  short,  all  the  agreeable  little  interruptions  incident  to  a 
watering-place  or  a  windmill.” 

a  But  not  always.  In  August,  1841,  he  says:  “Nahant  has  not  served  me 
as  well  as  usual  this  summer.  I  have  been  sorely  plagued  with  the  dyspep¬ 
tic  debility  and  pains.  But  1  am  determined  not  to  heed  them.”  Sometimes 
he  seemed  out  of  all  patience  with  Nahant.  Once  he  recorded:  “An  acre 
of  grass  and  old  trees  is  worth  a  wilderness  of  ocean.”  He  wrote  this,  how¬ 
ever,  at  Pepperell,  which  he  always  loved. 


LYNN. 


373 


determined  to  live  there  no  more,  —  “  his  visit  oft,  but  never 
his  abode.” 

Having  come  to  this  final  decision,  he  purchased,  in  the 
spring  of  1853,  a  house  on  the  shore  of  Lynn  Bay,  looking 
pleasantly  over  the  waters  to  his  old  home  at  Nahant,  and 
only  half  a  dozen  miles  distant  from  it.  It  was  a  luxurious 
establishment  compared  with  the  simple  cottage  for  which  he 
exchanged  it,  and  was  less  exposed  to  the  annoyance  of  idle 
strangers  or  inconsiderate  friends.  Its  chief  attractions,  how¬ 
ever,  were  its  mild  sea-breezes,  cool  and  refreshing,  but  rarely 
or  never  sharp  and  damp,  like  those  at  Nahant,  and  its  drives, 
which  could  easily  be  extended  into  the  interior,  and  carried 
into  rural  lanes  and  woodlands.  He  enjoyed  it  very  much,  — 
not,  indeed,  as  he  did  Pepperell,  which  was  always  a  peculiar 
place  to  him,  —  but  he  enjoyed  it  more  than  he  did  any  other 
of  Iris  residences  in  town  or  country,  spending  ten  or  twelve 
weeks  there  every  summer  during  the  last  five  years  of  his 
life,  embellishing  its  grounds,  and  making  its  interior  arrange¬ 
ments  comfortable  and  agreeable  to  his  children  and  grand¬ 
children,  whom  he  gathered  around  him  there,  as  he  loved  to 
do  everywhere.  Still,  much  was  added  to  his  happiness  when, 
two  years  later,  his  only  daughter,  who  had  been  married  in 
1852  to  Mr.  James  Lawrence,  was  settled  in  a  charming  villa 
hardly  a  stone’s  throw  from  his  door.  After  this  he  seemed  to 
need  nothing  more,  for  she  lived  still  nearer  to  him  in  Boston, 
and  visited  him  at  Pepperell  every  year  with  her  children. 

(Jne  thing  at  his  Lynn  home  was  and  still  is  (18G2)  very 
touching.  There  was  hardly  a  tree  on  the  place,  except  some 
young  plantations,  which  were  partly  his  own  work,  and  which 
he  did  not  live  to  see  grow  up.  But  shade  was  important  to 
him  there  as  it  was  everywhere  ;  and  none  was  to  be  found  in 
his  grounds  except  under  the  broad  branches  of  an  old  cherry- 
tree,  which  had  come  down  from  the  days  of  the  Quaker  shoe¬ 
makers  who  were  so  long  the  monarchs  of  the  lands  there  and 
in  all  the  neighborhood.  Round  the  narrow  circle  of  shade 
which  this  tree  afforded  him,  he  walked  with  his  accustomed 
fidelity  a  certain  length  of  time  every  day,  whenever  the  sun 
prevented  him  from  going  more  freely  abroad.  There  he  soon 
wore  a  path  in  the  greensward,  and  so  deep  did  it  at  last 


374 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


become,  that  now  —  four  years  since  any  foot  has  pressed  it  — 
the  marks  still  remain,  as  a  sad  memorial  of  his  infirmity.  3 
have  not  unfrequently  watched  him,  as  he  paced  his  wearisome 
rounds  there,  carrying  a  light  umbrella  in  his  hand,  which, 
when  he  reached  the  sunny  side  of  his  circle,  he  raised  lor  an 
instant  to  protect  his  eye,  and  then  shut  it  again  that  the  suf¬ 
fering  organ  might  have  the  full  benefit,  not  only  of  the  exer¬ 
cise,  but  of  the  fresh  air ;  so  exact  and  minute  was  he  as  to 
whatever  could  in  the  slightest  degree  affect  its  condition.7 

But  in  this  respect  all  his  houses  were  alike.  His  sight 
and  the  care  needful  to  preserve  it  were  everywhere  in  his 
thoughts,  and  controlled  more  or  less  whatever  he  did  or 
undertook. 

7  Since  writing  these  sentences,  a  sonnet  has  been  pointed  out  to  me  in  a 
cutting  from  one  of  the  newspapers  of  the  time,  which  refers  to  the  cLj)« 
round  the  old  cherry-tree. 

“No  more,  alas  !  the  soft  returning  Spring 
Shall  greet  thee,  walking  near  thy  favorite  tree, 

Marking  with  patient  step  the  magic  ring 

Where  pageants  grand  and  mouarchs  moved  with  thee, 

Thou  new  Columbus  !  bringing  from  old  Spain 
Her  ancient  wealth  to  this  awaiting  shore  j 
Returning,  stamped  with  impress  of  thy  brain, 

Far  richer  treasures  than  her  galleons  bore. 

Two  worlds  shall  weep  for  thee,  the  Old,  the  New, 

Now  that  the  marble  and  the  canvas  wait 
In  vain  to  cheer  the  homes  and  hearts  so  true 
Thy  immortality  made  desolate, 

While  angels  on  imperishable  scroll 
Record  the  wondrous  beauty  of  thy  soul.” 

It  was  written,  as  I  have  learned  since  I  copied  it  into  this  note,  by  a  very 
cultivated  lady  of  New  York,  Mrs.  John  Sherwood. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


1853-1858. 

First  Summer  at  Lynn.  —  Work  on  “  Philip  the  Second.”  —  Memo- 

BANDA  ABOUT  IT. - PRINTS  THE  FIRST  TWO  VOLUMES. — THEIR  SUC¬ 

CESS.  —  Addition  to  Kobertson’s  “  Charles  the  Fifth.”  —  Memoir 
of  Mr.  Abbott  Lawrence. -—Goes  on  with  “Philip  the  Second.” 
— Illness.  —  Dinner  at  Mr.  Gardiner’s.  — -  Correspondence. 

MR.  PRESCOTT  went  to  Lynn  on  the  21st  of  June, 
1853.  He  found  it,  as  he  recorded  a  few  days  after¬ 
wards,  “a  sober,  quiet  country,  with  the  open  ocean  spread 
out  before  him.  What,”  he  added,  “  can  be  better  for  study 
and  meditation  ?  I  hope  to  show  the  fruits  of  it,  and  yet,  in 

this  tonic  air,  defy  the  foul  fiend  dyspepsia.  At  any  rate,  I 

shall  be  less  plagued  with  rheumatism.” 

His  first  season  in  his  new  villa,  however,  was  not  very  fruit¬ 
ful  in  literary  results,  and  he  was  little  satisfied.  It  was  hard 
to  get  settled,  and  interruptions  from  affairs  were  frequent. 
But  his  life  there  was  not  without  its  appropriate  enjoyments. 
He  had  visits  from  his  friends  Sir  Charles  and  Lady  Lyell, 

and  from  the  Earl  and  Countess  of  Ellesmere,  and  he  was 

with  them  ail  in  a  gay  visit  to  New  York,  where  they  went 
for  the  Exhibition  of  that  year,  to  which  Lord  Ellesmere  and 
Sir  Charles  Lyell  had  come  as  Commissioners  on  behalf  of  the 
British  government.  But,  though  these  were  interruptions, 
they  were  much  more  than  compensated  for  by  the  pleasure 
they  gave,  and,  after  all,  he  made  progress  enough  to  insure 
to  him  that  feeling  of  success  whicli  he  always  found  important 
for  sustaining  his  industry.  In  fact,  by  October  he  was  so  far 
advanced  with  the  second  volume  of  “  Philip  the  Second,”  that 
he  began  to  make  calculations  as  to  the  number  of  pages  it 
might  fill,  as  to  the  disposition  of  the  remaining  materials,  and 
as  to  the  time  when  the  whole  would  be  ready  for  the  press. 
But  his  arrangements  contemplated  some  postponement  of  the 


376 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


publication  beyond  the  time  he  had  originally  proposed  for  it. 
When  noting  this  circumstance,  he  added,  with  characteristic 
good-humor,  “  The  public,  I  fancy,  will  not  object  to  waiting.” 

His  results,  however,  in  this  case  differed  more  than  usual 
from  his  calculations.  The  space  filled  by  the  troubles  of 
Philip  with  the  Barbary  powers,  by  the  siege  of  Malta,  and 
by  the  tragedy  of  Don  Carlos,  was  more  than  double  what 
he  had  reckoned  for  them.  The  consequence  was,  that  the 
Morisco  rebellion  and  the  battle  of  Lepanto,  which  had  been 
destined  for  the  second  volume,  were  necessarily  postponed  to 
the  third.  But  all  these  subjects  interested  and  excited  him. 
From  this  time,  therefore,  he  worked  vigorously  and  well,  and 
on  the  22d  of  August,  1854,  he  finished  the  last  note  to  the 
last  chapter  of  the  second  volume. 

On  this  occasion  he  made  the  following  memoranda  .  — 

By  next  spring,  when  I  trust  these  volumes  will  be  published,  nearly 
eight  years  will  have  elapsed  since  the  publication  of  the  “  Conquest  of 
Peru,”  which  was  also  in  two  volumes,  and  which  was  published  in  less 
than  four  years  after  the  appearance  of  the  “  Conquest  of  Mexico.”  The 
cause  of  this  difference  is  to  be  charged  even  more  on  the  state  of  my  eyes 
than  on  the  difficulty  and  extent  of  the  subject.  Por  a  long  time  after 
the  “  Peru  ”  was  published  I  hardly  ventured  to  look  into  a  book,  and 
though  I  have  grown  bolder  as  I  have  advanced,  my  waning  vision  has 
warned  me  to  manage  my  eye  with  much  greater  reserve  than  formerly. 
Indeed,  for  some  time  after  I  had  finished  the  “  Peru,”  I  hesitated  whether 
I  should  grapple  with  the  whole  subject  of  “Philip  ”  in  extenso ;  and, 
when  I  made  up  my  mind  to  serve  up  the  whole  barbecue  instead  of  par¬ 
ticular  parts,  I  had  so  little  confidence  in  the  strength  of  my  vision,  that 
I  thought  of  calling  the  work  “  Memoirs,”  and  treating  the  subject  in  a 
more  desultory  and  superficial  manner  than  belongs  to  a  regular  history. 
I  did  not  go  to  work  in  a  business-like  style  till  I  broke  ground  on  the 
troubles  of  the  Netherlands.  Perhaps  my  critics  may  find  this  out. 

My  first  chapter  was  written  in  July,  1849,  at  Nahant ;  my  last  of  the 
second  volume  concluded  at  this  date  at  Lynn,  which  allows  about  five 
years  for  the  actual  composition  of  the  work,  from  which  six  months 
must  be  deducted  for  a  visit  to  England. 

The  amount  of  the  two  volumes  I  reckon  at  about  eleven  hundred  and 
fifty  pages,  one  hundred  and  fifty  more  than  a  wise  economy  would  have 
prescribed ;  but  I  hope  the  reader  will  be  the  gainer  by  it.  Nothing 
remains  now  but  to  correct  the  earlier  portions  of  the  work,  especially 
those  relating  to  Charles  the  Eifth,  in  which  all  my  new  things  have  been 
forestalled  since  I  began  to  write  by  Mignet,  Stirling,  &c.,  —  a  warning  to 
procrastinating  liistorians.  This  tinkering,  with  a  few  biographical  notices, 
ought  not  to  take  more  than  two  or  three  months,  if  my  eyes  stand  by  me. 
But,  Quien  sabe  ?  The  two  months  I  have  been  here  I  have  hardly  had 


PUBLICATION  OF  “PHILIP  THE  SECOND.' 


377 


two  weeks’  use  of  the  eye ;  so  much  for  a  stupid  strain  of  the  muscle?, 
rather  than  the  nerve,  just  before  I  left  town. 

In  November  he  began  to  stereotype  the  work,  at  the  rate  of 
ten  pages  a  day.  Each  volume  held  out  a  little  more  than  his 
estimate,  but  the  whole  was  completed  in  May,  1855,  his  friend 
Mr.  Folsom  revising  it  all  with  great  care  as  it  went  through 
the  press.  It  was  not,  however,  immediately  published.  To 
suit  the  exigencies  of  the  time,  which,  from  severe  financial 
embarrassments,  were  unfavorable  to  literary  enterprise,  it  did 
not  appear,  either  in  England  or  in  the  United  States,  until 
November. 

An  adverse  decision  of  the  House  of  Lords  as  to  the  power 
of  a  foreigner  to  claim  copyright  in  England  had,  however,  cut 
him  off'  from  his  brilliant  prospects  there ;  and  in  the  United 
States  he  had  changed  his  publishers,  not  from  any  dissatis¬ 
faction  with  them,  —  for,  as  he  said,  they  had  dealt  well  with 
him  from  first  to  last,  —  but  from  circumstances  wholly  of  a 
financial  character. 

Six  months  after  the  publication  of  the  first  two  volumes 
of  “  Philip  the  Second,”  he  made  the  following  notice  of  the 
result :  — 

A  settlement  made  with  my  publishers  here  last  week  enables  me  to 
speak  of  the  success  of  the  work.  In  England  it  has  been  published  in 
four  separate  editions  ;  one  of  them  from  the  rival  house  of  Routledge. 
It  has  been  twice  reprinted  in  Germany,  and  a  Spanish  translation  of  it  is 
now  in  course  of  publication  at  Madrid.  In  this  country  eight  thousand 
copies  have  been  sold,  while  the  sales  of  the  preceding  works  have  been  so 
much  improved  by  the  impulse  received  from  this,  that  nearly  thirty 
thousand  volumes  of  them  have  been  disposed  of  by  my  Boston  pub¬ 
lishers,  from  whom  I  have  received  seventeen  thousand  dollars  for  the 
“  Philip  ”  and  the  other  works  the  last  six  months.  So  much  for  the 
lucre ! 

Prom  the  tone  of  the  foreign  journals  and  those  of  my  own  country,  it 
would  seem  that  the  work  has  found  quite  as  much  favor  as  any  of  its 
predecessors,  and,  as  the  sales  have  been  much  greater  than  of  any  other 
of  them  in  the  same  space  of  time,  I  may  be  considered  to  have  as  favor¬ 
able  a  breeze  to  carry  me  forward  on  my  long  voyage  as  I  could  desire. 
This  is  very  important  to  me,  as  I  felt  a  little  nervous  in  regard  to  the 
reception  of  the  work,  after  so  long  an  interval  since  the  preceding  one 
had  appeared. 

It  is  needless  to  add  anything  to  a  simple  statement  like  this. 
The  success  of  the  work,  was  complete,  and  has  continued  so. 


J78 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  l’RESCOTT. 


The  reviews  of  it  on  its  first  appearance  were  less  numerous 
than  they  had  been  in  the  case  of  its  predecessors.  It  was  a 
foregone  conclusion  that  the  hook  would  be  equal  to  its  sub¬ 
ject  ;  and,  besides,  the  sale  both  in  England  and  in  the  United 
States  was  so  large  and  so  prompt,  that  the  public  decision  was, 
in  fact,  made  quite  as  soon  as  the  critics  could  have  been  heard. 
There  was,  however,  no  difference  of  opinion  anywhere  on  the 
matter ;  and,  if  there  had  been,  the  favorable  judgment  of  M. 
Guizot,  in  the  “  Edinburgh  Review  "  for  January,  1857,  would 
have  outweighed  many  such  as  are  commonly  pronounced  by 
persons  little  competent  to  decide  questions  they  so  gravely 
claim  to  adjudicate.1 

But  while  the  publication  of  the  first  two  volumes  of  the 
“  History  of  Philip  the  Second  ”  was  going  on,  Mr.  Prescott 
was  occupied  with  another  work  on  a  kindred  subject,  and  one 
which  seemed  to  grow  out  of  the  circumstances  of  the  case  by 
a  sort  of  natural  necessity.  I  refer  to  the  latter  part  of  the 
reign  and  life  of  Philip’s  illustrious  father.  It  was  plain  that 
the  accounts  of  Gachard,  drawn  from  manuscript  sources,  which 
had  been  already  so  well  used  in  English  by  Stirling,  and  in 
French  by  Mignet,2  respecting  the  life  of  Charles  the  Fifth 
after  his  abdication,  were  so  different  from  the  accounts  given 
by  Robertson,  that  his  eloquent  work  could  no  longer  serve  as 
a  sufficient  link  between  the  times  of  F erdinand  and  Isabella 
and  those  of  their  grandson ;  still  less  between  those  of  their 
grandson  and  Philip  the  Second.  It  had  therefore  more  than 
once  been  suggested  to  Mr.  Prescott  that  he  should  himself 
till  up  the  interval  with  an  entirely  new  work  on  the  reign  of 
Charles  the  Fifth. 

But  this  was  a  task  he  was  unwilling  to  undertake.  On  the 
one  hand,  he  had  no  wish  to  bring  himself  at  all  into  competi- 

1  On  the  first  of  January,  1860,  nearly  13,000  copies  of  these  two  volumes 
of  the  “  History  of  Philip  the  Second”  had  been  sold;  but  the  number  in 
England  could  not  be  given  with  exactness;  although  a  few  days  later  it  was 
known  that  the  number  must  have  been  greater  than  had  been  assumed  in 
making  up  the  above  estimate. 

5  The  Cloister  Life  of  the  Emperor  Charles  V.,  by  William  Stirling  (Lon¬ 
don,  1862,  8vo).  Charles-Quint,  son  Abdication,  son  Stijour  et  sa  Mort  au 
Monastfere  de  Yuste,  par  M.  Mignet  (Paris,  1854,  8vo).  Gachard,  L.  P., 
Retraite  et  Mort  de  Charles-Quint,  au  Monast&re  de  Yuste  (Bruxelles,  3  voL 
8vo,  1864,  sqq.). 


MEMOIR  OF  MR.  LAWRENCE. 


379 


lion  with  the  Scotch  historian,  who  had  so  honorably  won  his 
laurels ;  and,  on  the  other,  the  reign  of  Philip  the  Second  opened 
to  him  a  long  vista  of  years  all  tilled  with  labor ;  besides  which 
the  times  of  Charles  the  Fifth  constituted  a  wide  subject,  for 
which  he  had  made  no  collections,  and  which  he  had  examined 
only  as  a  portion  of  Spanish  history  intimately  connected  with 
the  portions  immediately  preceding  and  following  it,  to  which 
he  had  already  devoted  himself.  Still,  he  admitted  that  some¬ 
thing  ought  to  be  done  in  order  to  bring  the  concluding  period 
of  Robertson’s  History  into  harmony  with  facts  now  known 
and  settled,  and  with  the  representations  which  must  constitute 
the  opening  chapters  of  his  own  account  of  the  reign  of  Philip 
the  Second. 

In  May,  1855,  therefore,  he  began  to  prepare  a  new  con¬ 
clusion  to  Robertson’s  “  Charles  the  Fifth,”  and  in  the  January 
following  had  completed  it.  It  embraces  that  portion  of  the 
Emperor’s  life  which  followed  his  abdication,  and  makes  about 
a  hundred  and  eighty  pages.  It  was  not  published  until  the 
succeeding  December,  the  intervening  months  having  been  re¬ 
quired  to  prepare  and  print  the  volumes  of  Robertson,  to  which 
the  account  of  the  last  year  of  the  Emperor’s  life,  the  one  at 
Yuste,  was  to  be  the  conclusion. 

I  was  then  in  Europe,  and  on  the  8th  of  December,  1856, 
he  wrote  to  me  :  — 

My  “  Charles  the  Fifth,”  or  rather  Robertson’s,  with  my  Continuation, 
made  his  bow  to  the  public  to-day,  like  a  strapping  giant  with  a  little 
urchin  holding  on  to  the  tail  of  his  coat.  I  can’t  say  I  expect  much  from 
it,  as  the  best  and  biggest  part  is  somewhat  of  the  oldest.  But  people 
who  like  a  complete  series  will  need  it  to  fill  up  the  gap  betwixt  “  Ferdi¬ 
nand  ”  and  “  Philip.” 

It  had,  however,  the  same  sort  of  success  with  all  his  other 
works.  Six  thousand  nine  hundred  copies  were  published  in 
London  and  Boston  before  the  end  of  eighteen  hundred  and 
fifty-nine. 

As  soon  as  his  continuation  of  Robertson  was  completed, 
he  gave  a  few  weeks  to  the  preparation  of  a  Memoir  of  his 
friend  and  kinsman,  Mr.  Abbott  Lawrence,  who  had  died  in 
the  preceding  month  of  August,  It  is  a  graceful  and  becom¬ 
ing  tribute  to  an  eminent  man,  who  deserved  well  not  only  of 


380 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


Massachusetts,  where  he  was  bom  and  always  lived,  but  of 
the  country  which  he  had  faithfully  served  in  many  high  ca¬ 
pacities  at  home  and  abroad,  and  which  had  wellnigh  called 
him  to  what,  in  the  course  of  events,  became  the  highest. 
The  Memoir  is  short,  originally  prepared  for  the  National  Por¬ 
trait  Gallery,  and  subsequently  printed  in  a  beautiful  quarto 
form  for  private  distribution. 

In  the  beginning  of  March,  1856,  he  turned  again  to  his 
“  History  of  Philip  the  Second,”  and  went  on  with  it,  not 
rapidly,  perhaps,  but  still,  with  the  exception  of  the  time  when 
he  was  partly  occupied  in  correcting  for  the  press  his  addition 
to  “  Charles  the  Fifth,”  his  progress  was  good.  He  had  a 
pleasant  summer  at  Lynn,  during  the  heats  of  the  season,  and 
enjoyed  his  life  so  well  in  the  autumn  at  Pepperell,  that  he 
again  thought  he  might  make  his  holidays  there  longer  in 
succeeding  years.  But  he  never  did. 

“  Our  autumn  villeygiatura,”  he  says,  under  date  of  October  30th,  1856, 
“  has  been  charming,  as  usual,  —  the  weather  remarkably  fine,  —  many 
of  the  days  too  Indian-summerish,  however.1  The  vegetation  has  been 
remarkably  fresh  to  a  late  period,  from  the  great  rains,  and  then  fading, 
or  rather  flushing  into  a  blaze  of  glorious  colors,  which,  as  they  passed 
away,  and  the  fallen  leaves  strewed  the  ground  with  their  splendors,  have 
been  succeeded  by  wider  reaches  of  the  landscape  and  the  dark-blue  moun¬ 
tains  in  the  distance.  The  old  trees  seem  like  friends  of  earlier  days,  still 
spreading  out  their  venerable  arms  around  me,  and  reminding  me  of  him 
by  whose  hands  so  many  of  them  were  planted.  No  spot  that  I  own  is  so 
full  of  tender  reminiscences  to  me. 

The  time  has  been  propitious,  as  usual,  to  mental,  and,  I  trust,  moral 
progress.  I  have  worked  con  amove,  as  I  always  do  in  these  quiet  shades, 
though  not  with  the  furore  of  those  times  when  I  turned  off  sometimes 

3  Mr.  Lawrence  came  very  near  being  nominated  by  the  Whig  party’s 
convention  as  their  candidate  for  Vice-President  of  the  United  States,  instead 
of  Mr.  Fillmore,  on  the  same  ticket  with  General  Taylor.  In  that  case,  he 
would,  on  the  death  of  General  Taylor,  have  become  President  of  the  United 
States,  as  did  Mr.  Fillmore.  Mr.  Lawrence  lacked  very  few  votes  of  this 
high  success ;  and  I  shall  never  forget  the  quiet  good-humor  with  which,  a  few 
minutes  after  he  knew  that  he  had  failed  of  the  nomination  as  Vice-Presi¬ 
dent,  he  came  into  my  house,  being  my  next-door  neighbor,  and  told  me  of  it. 

4  This  peculiar  New  England  season  is  well  described  in  a  note  to  the 
eighth  sermon  of  a  small  collection  first  printed  privately  in  1812,  and  after¬ 
wards  published,  by  the  late  Rev.  James  Freeman,  one  of  the  wise  and  good 
men  of  his  time. 

“  The  southwest  is  the  pleasantest  wind  which  blows  in  New  England.  In 
the  month  of  October,  in  particular,  after  the  frosts  which  commonly  tak« 


TAINS  IN  THE  HEAD. 


381 


fifteen  pages  in  a  day.  But  my  eyes  —  my  literary  legs  —  grow  feebler 
and  feebler,  as  I  near  my  grand  climacteric.  I  hope  it  will  be  long,  how¬ 
ever,  before  I  shall  have  to  say.  Solve  senescentem.  I  would  rather  die  in 
harness.  Another  year,  I  trust,  we  may  get  some  way  into  December 
before  going  into  town.  But  I  don’t  know.  It  takes  two  to  make  a 
bargain  in  my  family. 

The  winter  that  followed,  1856-7,  was  an  unhappy  one, 
and  not  without  painful  auguries.  I  was  then  in  Italy.  My 
letters  informed  me  that  my  friend  was  suffering  from  severe 
headaches.  He  wrote  me,  in  reply  to  inquiries  on  the  subject, 
that  it  was  true  he  had  suffered  from  a  new  sort  of  troubles  ; 
but  he  wrote  lightly  and  pleasantly,  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of 
little  consequence.  The  greatest  severity  of  his  pain  was  from 
December  to  March.  During  that  period,  he  was  often  unable 
to  work  at  all,  and  from  time  to  time,  and  generally  for  some 
hours  every  day,  his  sufferings  were  very  severe. 

On  my  return  home  in  September,  1857,  I  found  his  appear¬ 
ance  considerably  changed.  He  was  much  better,  I  was  assured, 
.nan  he  had  been  during  the  winter ;  and  the  ever-watchful 
Mrs.  Prescott  told  me  that  he  had  been  able  for  several  months 
to  pursue  his  literary  labors  nearly  every  day,  though  cautiously 
and  sometimes  not  without  anxiety  on  her  part.  He  was,  I 
thought,  not  a  sound  man,  as  he  was  when  I  had  last  seen  him, 
fifteen  or  sixteen  months  before  ;  for,  although  he  suffered  less 
pain  in  his  head  than  he  had  for  some  time,  he  was  seldom  free 
from  annoyance  there.  He,  however,  regarded  the  affection, 
in  its  different  forms,  as  rheumatic,  and  as  connected  with  all 
the  kindred  maladies  that  from  his  youth  had  been  lurking  in 

place  at  the  end  of  September,  it  frequently  produces  two  or  three  weeks  of 
fair  weather,  in  which  the  air  is  perfectly  transparent,  and  the  clouds,  which 
float  in  a  sky  of  the  purest  azure,  are  adorned  with  brilliant  colors.  If  at  this 
season  a  man  of  an  affectionate  heart  and  ardent  imagination  should  visit  the 
tombs  of  his  friends,  the  southwestern  breezes,  as  they  breathe  through  the 
glowing  trees,  would  seem  to  him  almost  articulate.  Though  he  might  not 
be  so  rapt  in  enthusiasm  as  to  fancy  that  the  spirits  of  his  ancestors  were 
whispering  in  his  ear,  yet  he  would  at  least  imagine  that  he  heard  the  still, 
small  voice  of  God.  This  charming  season  is  called  the  Indian  Summer,  a 
name  which  is  derived  from  the  natives,  who  believe  that  it  is  caused  by  a 
wind  which  comes  immediately  from  the  court  of  their  great  and  benevolent 
God,  Cautantowwit,  or  the  Southwestern  God,  the  God  who  is  superior  to  all 
other  beings;  who  sends  them  every  blessing  which  they  enjoy,  and  to  whom 
t!i«  goals  of  their  fathers  go  after  their  decease.” 


382 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


his  system.  I  would  gladly  have  agreed  with  him, ,  but  whe 
I  occasionally  observed  that  the  pam  he  suffered  flushed  his 
face  and  neck  with  a  dark  mahogany  color,  I  could  not  drive 
away  the  apprehensions  that  haunted  me. 

Still  he  was  almost  always  able  to  occupy  himself,  at  leas 
a  part  of  each  day,  with  his  literary  labors  ;  and  in  the  first 
weeks  of  the  new  year  he  wrote  the  opening  chapters  of  the 
Sixth  Book  of  his  “  Philip  the  Second,”  or,  it  the  concludm 
paragraphs  of  the  last  of  them  were  not  absolutely  committed 
to  paper  at  that  time,  they  were  composed,  as  was  his  custom, 
hr  his  memory,  and  were  ready  to  be  written  down  at  the  first 
moment  of  leisure.  This  was  the  condition  of  things  at  the  end 

°f  STZught  did  not  feel  himself  strong  and  well ^during 
the  latter  part  of  1857  and  in  the  opening  days  ot  18o8,  still 
he  enjoyed  life  almost  as  he  had  done  in  its  happiest  yeai  . 
He  nit  only  worked,  end  did  it  well,  tat  he  took  the  earn 
sort  of  pleasure  in  society  that  he  always  had.  Dating  with 
friends,  which  had  been  his  favorite  mode  of  social  enjoyment 
as  it  had  been  ills  father's,  was  continued,  and  especially  dining 
with  a  few;  an  indulgence  which  he  could  not  permit t .  be 
interfered  with.  One  of  the  last  of  these  occasions  —  I  suppose 
the  very  last,  before  his  illness  in  February,  18o8  interrupted 
them  for  several  months  — is  so  happily  described  by  bis  Me¬ 
lon »  friend,  Mr.  Gardiner,  that  I  take  much  pleasure  m  giving 
•uis°account  of  it  entire.  He  is  speaking  of  a  sort  ot  dinners 
that  Prescott  used  to  call  croneyings ,  which  he  particularly 
enjoyed,  and  of  which  there  are  occasional,  though  very  raie 
mid  slight,  notices  in  liis  Memoranda. 

-  With  what  mingled  emotion,” 

of  these  occasions  !  I  am  enableu  -  januarv,  or  one  of  the  earliest 
n,y  own  house,  either  on  ^  ^  ■  sq  smalf  ’that  it  har(ny  deserves 

days  of  February,  1858.  ,.!;t  intimate  friends,  besides  myself 

the  name.  Prescott  and  two  ^.^^^  ^“  d  tabie.  He  had  suffered 
and  my  family,  were  all  who  filled  a  smal  ^rouna  source  of 

during  the  past  year  from  e<l  ^  himsulf)  for  hc  never  attributed  these 
more  uneasiness  to  his  fnen  thought  them  eitf  tr 

headaches  »  wh„  “  rheLS  nothing  that 

neuralgic,  or  a  new  phase  .  had  been  unusually 


LETTER  TO  LADY  LYELL. 


383 


the  beginning  he  was  in  one  of  his  most  lively  and  amusing  moods.  The 
Ladies  were  induced  by  it  to  linger  longer  at  the  table  than  usual.  When 
they  had  left,  the  whole  company  was  reduced  to  only  a  party  of  four,  but 
of  very  old  friends,  each  of  whom  was  stored  with  many  reminiscences  of 
like  occasions,  running  far  back  into  younger  days.  Prescott  overflowed 
with  the  full  tide  of  mirth  belonging  to  those  days.  It  was  a  gush  of  rare 
enjoyment.  After  nearly  five  years,  the  date  at  which  I  write,  I  cannot 
recall  a  thing  that  was  said.  Probably  nothing  was  said  in  itself  worth 
recalling,  nothing  that  would  bear  to  stand  alone  on  cold  paper.  But  all 
that  quick-wittedness,  lively  repartee,  sparkling  humor,  exceeding  naivete, 
and  droll  manner  of  saying  droll  things,  for  which  he  was  so  remarkable 
when  he  let  himself  out  with  perfect  freedom,  were  brought  into  fail  play. 
And  then  he  laughed,  as  he  only  could  laugh,  at  next  to  nothing,  when 
he  was  in  one  of  these  moods,  and  made  us  inevitably  laugh  too,  almost 
as  the  Cambridge  Professor  did,  according  to  his  own  story.  He  stayed, 
too,  considerably  beyond  his  usual  time,  the  rarest  of  ail  things  with  him. 
But  he  had  come  bent  on  having  ‘  a  good  time,’  —  it  was  so  long,  he  said, 
since  he  had  had  one,  —  and  laid  out  for  it  accordingly. 

“  On  comparing  notes  a  few  days  afterwards  with  the  two  friends  who 
were  present,  we  ail  agreed  that  we  had  not  seen  ‘  the  great  historian  ’  for 
years  in  such  a  state  of  perfect  youthful  abandonment. 

“  It  was  a  sad  note  of  solemn  warning  which  led  us  to  make  that  com¬ 
parison.  But  the  picture  of  him  as  he  was  that  night,  in  all  his  merri¬ 
ment,  will  never  fade  from  the  memory  —  till  all  fades  ” 

TO  LADY  LYELL. 

Boston,  November  4,  1864. 

We  passed  a  very  quiet  month  in  old  Pepperell,  Susan  was  so  fatigued 
with  the  rather  hustling  life  we  led  at  Lynn,  that  I  proposed  we  should 
live  like  anchorites,  bating  the  bread  and  water,  in  the  country.  So  we 
had  only  the  children  and  little  ones.  One  friend,  the  ex-Minister  to  Eng¬ 
land,  spent  indeed  a  couple  of  days  with  us.  Groton,  the  next  town,  you 
know,  to  Pepperell,  was  his  birthplace.  His  father  was  a  lieutenant  in 
my  grandfather’s  regiment  on  the  memorable  day  of  Bunker  Hill,  when 
British  tyranny  was  so  well  humbled,  you  recollect.  The  two  brave  com¬ 
panions  in  arms  were  great  friends,  and,  oeirtg  neighbors,  often  sipped 
their  toddy  together  in  the  same  room  where  their  descendants  took  their 
champagne  and  sherry,  the  latter  some  of  the  good  — 1  do  not  say  the  best 
—  fruits  of  our  glorious  Revolution.  It  was  rather  interesting  to  think  of 
it,  was  it  not  ?  But  poor  Lawrence  went  from  us  to  Groton  to  pass  a  few 
days,  and  while  there  had  a  bad  attack  of  —  I  don’t  know  what,  nor  the 
doctors  either  —  great  pains  in  the  chest,  pressure  on  the  head,  and  insen¬ 
sibility.  Yet  they  do  not  think  it  apoplectic  in  its  character,  but  arising 
from  a  disturbance  of  the  liver,  to  which  he  has  been  subject.  Any  way 
it  is  very  alarming.  It  is  the  third  attack  of  the  kind  he  has  had  in  six 
weeks,  and  it  makes  all  his  friends  “  guess  and  fear”  for  the  future.  He 
is  now  on  a'  very  careful  regimen,  and  pays  little  attention  to  business  or 


384 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


anything  that  can  excite  him.  His  loss  would  be  a  great  one  to  this  com 
raunity,  and  it  certainly  would  be  inestimable  to  his  family.  There  are 
few  whom  I  should  be  more  sorry  to  part  with,  for  besides  good  sense  and 
large  practical  information  he  has  such  a  genial  nature,  with  such  frank 
and  joyous  manners  as  are  not  often  found  among  us  cold-blooded  Yan¬ 
kees.  I  would  not  have  you  think  from  all  this  that  he  is  at  the  point  of 
death.  On  the  contrary,  I  have  just  met  him  in  the  street,  and  locking 
very  well.  But  his  constitution  is  shaken. 

Soon  after  our  return  to  town  your  friends,  the  Governor-General  of 
all  the  Canadas  and  lady,  turned  up  again,  to  my  great  satisfaction,  as  I 
wished  to  see  them,  and  have  the  opportunity  of  paying  them  some  atten¬ 
tion.  I  dined  with  them  at  the  Ticknors  day  before  yesterday,  and  to-day 
they  dine  with  us.  We  shall  have  a  dozen  more  friends,  the  famille  Sears, 
the  elder  and  younger  branches,  the  Ticknors  supported  by  Hillard,  and 
our  brave  Ex-Consul  Aspinwall.  Do  you  think  it  will  be  prim  and 
prosy  %  I  wish  you  and  your  husband  were  to  help  us  out  with  it.  I 
like  the  Heads  very  much,  the  little  I  have  seen  of  them  ;  well-bred,  un¬ 
affected,  and  intellectual  people,  with  uncommon  good-nature  for  travellers, 
i.  e.  John  Bull  travellers. 


TO  LADY  LYELL. 

Boston,  December  24,  1854. 

Have  you  seen  Lord  Carlisle’s  volume  of  Travels  t  He  sent  it  to  me 
the  other  day,  and  it  strikes  me  as  a  very  agreeable  record,  and  full  of  the 
noble  sentiments  which  belong  to  him. 

So  poor  Lockhart  has  paid  the  great  debt.  Was  it  not  a  touching 
thing  that  he  should  have  died  on  the  spot  endeared  to  him  by  so  many 
tender  and  joyous  recollections,  and  of  the  same  disease  which  destroyed 
Sir  Walter  too!  I  liked  Lockhart,  the  little  I  saw  of  him;  and  a  vein 
of  melancholy  tinged  with  the  sarcastic  gave  an  interesting  piquancy  to 
his  conversation.  I  don’t  know  that  it  made  his  criticism  more  agreeablo 
to  those  who  were  the  subjects  of  it. 

TO  LADY  Li  ELL. 

Boston,  December  81, 1854. 

Thank  jrou,  dear  Lady  Lyell,  for  your  kind  note  and  the  likeness* 
which  accompanied  it.  It  is  charming ;  the  noble,  expansive  forehead, 
the  little  mouth  that  does  —  not  speak.  Nothing  can  be  more  perfect. 
It  will  make  a  nice  pendant  to  Tieknor’s,  executed  in  the  same  way.  This 
crystallotype  —  if  that  is  the  name  it  goes  by  with  you  as  it  does  with  us 
—  is  a  miraculous  invention,  and  one  by  no  means  auspicious  to  the  en¬ 
graver,  or  indeed  the  painter.  Apollo,  in  old  times,  was  the  patron  of  the 
tine  ails,  and  of  painting  among  the  rest.  But  in  our  days  he  is  made  to 
Ixscome  painter  himself. 


6  Of  Sir  Charles  Lyell. 


LETTER  FROM  LORD  CARLISLE. 


385 


TO  LADY  LYELL. 

Boston,  March  16,  1866. 

I  envy  you  your  Continental  tour,  especially  your  visit  to  Berlin.  It  is 
a  capital  I  should  like  well  to  see,  if  it  were  only  to  meet  Humboldt,  one 
of  the  very  few  men  in  the  world  whom  one  would  take  the  trouble  to 
walk  a  mile  to  see ;  now  that  the  Iron  Duke  is  dead,  I  hardly  know  an¬ 
other  I  would  go  hall'  that  distance  to  have  a  look  at.  I  have  had  some 
very  kind  letters  "‘rom  Humboldt,  who  has  always  taken  a  friendly  interest 
in  my  historical  career ;  and,  as  this  has  lain  in  his  path,  it  has  enabled 
me  to  appreciate  the  immense  services  he  has  done  to  science  and  letters 
by  his  curious  researches  and  his  beautiful  manner  of  exhibiting  the  results 
of  them  to  the  reader. 


FROM  LORD  CARLISLE. 

Castle  Howard,  March  20,  1856. 

Optime  et  Carissime, 

Nothing  ever  pleased  me  more,  except  perhaps  your  own  most  kind  and 
indulgent  verdict,  than  the  opinion  you  enclosed  to  me  from  the  erudite 
and  weighty  authority  of  Felton.9  For,  besides  all  his  intrinsic  titles  to 
respect  and  deference  as  scholar,  author,  and  critic,  he  had  himself  drank 
in  the  inspiration  of  the  self-same  scenes,  and  knows  how  feebly  the  pale 
coloring  of  words  can  portray  all  the  glowing  realities  of  those  classic 
shores.  I  will  attend  to  your  behest  about  the  book  when  I  get  back  to 
London.  You  will  excuse  me  for  guiding  myself  by  Homeric  precedent, 
so  I  shall  presume  to  expect  a  Diomedean  exchange  of  armor,  and,  in  re¬ 
turn  for  my  light  texture,  to  receive  your  full  mail-clad  “  Philip  the 
Second.” 

You  will  have  perceived  that  we  have  been  shifting  scenes  on  our  polit¬ 
ical  stage  with  much  rapidity  and  not  a  little  complexity  of  plot.  I  ap¬ 
pear  myself  before  you  in  a  new  character.7  Suppose  you  come  and  see 
how  I  comport  myself  in  it.  I  had  once  an  opportunity  of  showing  you 
a  real  sovereign,  and  I  can  now  treat  you  to  the  representation  of  a  mock 
one.  I  will  not  guarantee,  however,  that  I  may  not  have  to  descend  from 
my  throne  before  you  can  reach  its  august  presence. 

I  take  up  my  abode  in  Ireland  about  Easter.  I  have  a  comfortable 
residence  there,  and  a  most  agreeable  view ;  not  so  sparkling  as  that  over 
the  AEgean  and  Cyclades,  hut  over  bright  fresh  green  and  a  good  outline 
of  hill.  I  am  quite  serious  in  urging  you  to  come.  You  may  send  Sum¬ 
ner  too. 

*  Professor  Felton,  afterwards  the  much-loved  President  of  Harvard  Col- 
'ega,  edited  and  illustrated  with  his  pleasant  learning  “  The  Diary  in  Turkish 
and  Greek  Waters,”  of  Lord  Carlisle  (1855). 

7  As  Viceroy  of  Ireland. 

17 


1 


386 


WILLIAM  IDCKLING  PRESCOTT. 


Peace  be  with  you  and  yours  at  least,  if  it  cannot  be  with  the  whole 
world. 


Most  affectionately, 


CXSLISLS. 


TO  LADY  LYELL. 


Boston,  April  25,  1855. 

I  don’t  think  I  do  myself  quite  justice  in  saying  I  am  a  fixture,  because 
I  stick  to  the  easy-chair ;  for,  after  all,  the  mind  is  the  man,  and  my  mind 
has  carried  me  over  many  a  league  since  I  saw  you  last,  and  far  back,  too, 
into  other  centuries.  If  I  should  go  to  heaven  when  I  quit  this  dirty  ball, 
I  shall  find  many  acquaintances  there,  and  some  of  them  very  respectable, 
of  the  olden  time  ;  many  whose  letters  I  have  read  since  their  death,  never 
intended  for  vulgar  eyes  to  feed  upon.  Don’t  you  think  I  should  have  a 
kindly  greeting  from  good  Isabella  1  Even  Bloody  Mary,  I  think,  will 
smile  on  me ;  for  I  love  the  old  Spanish  stock,  the  house  of  Trastamara. 
But  there  is  one  that  I  am  sure  will  owe  me  a  grudge,  and  that  is  the  very 
man  I  have  been  making  two  big  volumes  upon.  With  all  my  good-na¬ 
ture  I  can’t  wash  him  even  into  the  darkest  French  gray.  He  is  black 
and  all  black.  My  friend  Madame  Calderon  will  never  forgive  me.  Is  it 
not  charitable  to  give  Philip  a  place  in  heaven  1 

So  Lord  Carlisle  has  got  the  Irish  sceptre.  He  has  written  kindly  to 
ask  mo  to  visit  him  this  summer,  and  see  his  vice-regal  state.  I  should 
like  nothing  better ;  but  1  have  my  four  acres  of  lawn,  and  ever  so  many 
greener  acres  of  salt  water  to  overlook,  to  say  nothing  of  generations  of 
descendants,  who  will  be  crying  out  for  me  like  pelicans  in  the  wilderness, 
should  I  abscond.  An  edition,  by  the  by,  of  Carlisle’s  book  is  in  the  press 
here,  and  will  come  out  under  Felton’s  care.  lie  went  over  the  same 
ground,  at  about  the  same  time  with  Lord  C. 

TO  LADY  LYELL. 


Boston,  June  17,  1856. 

We  are  very  busy  just  now  preparing  for  our  seaside  flitting.  It  is  ” 
great  pleasure  to  us  that  Enzabeth  is  to  be  so  near  us.8  Her  new'  house 
is  on  a  larger  scale,  and  every  way  a  more  ambitious  affair,  than  ours.  I 
expect  to  revel  in  babies,  for  William  and  his  wife  and  nursery  take  up 
their  quarters  the  first  month  with  us.9  I  suppose  Anna  Ticknor,  with 
whom  I  diued  yesterday,  —  no  one  but  the  family,  —  has  told  you  of  Mr. 
Lawrence’s  illness.  It  is  the  old  trouble,  chiefly  of  the  liver.  A  foi  might 
since  as  I  walked  with  him  round  the  Common,  I  told  him  he  was  losing 
ground  and  should  go  to  Europe.  I  went  in  and  saw  his  wife,  and  it  was 

8  Mrs.  James  Lawrence,  his  only  daughter,  removed  this  season  to  a  sum¬ 
mer  villa  in  his  neighborhood  at  Lynn. 

9  His  eldest  son,  then  expected  from  Europe  with  his  family. 


LETTER  FROM  THE  EARL  OF  ELLESMERE. 


387 


arranged  before  I  left,  that  he  should  take  passage  for  England  the  20th 
of  June.  That  night  he  became  very  ill,  and  has  been  ever  since  in  bed. 
He  is  now  slowly  mending,  and,  if  well  enough,  will  embark  probably 
early  in  July ;  I  should  not  think,  however,  before  the  middle  of  it.  Ho 
just  sent  me  from  his  sick-bed  a  scrap  of  paper,  simply  stating  that 
“eighty  years  ago,  June  17th,  his  father  and  my  grandfather  fought  side 
by  side  on  Bunker  Hill,”  —  a  stirring  reminiscence  for  a  sick-bed. 

FROM  THE  EARL  OF  ELLESMERE. 

Oxford,  September  27,  1855 

Dear  Mr.  Prescott, 

Your  kind  and  sad  letter  has  remained  long  unacknowledged.  It 
reached  me  at  a  moment  when  I  was  leaving  London  for  an  excursion 
less  of  pleasure  than  of  business,  a  visit  to  the  Paris  Exhibition ;  and 
from  my  arrival  there  to  my  return  a  few  days  since  I  have  been  deprived 
of  any  use  of  my  right  hand  by  my  usual  enemy.  If  my  right  hand  had 
more  cunning  than  it  pretends  to,  it  could  not  convey  what  either  Lady 
Ellesmere  or  myself  feels  on  the  frustration  of  the  pleasant  hope  we  had 
lately  entertained  of  meeting  again  with  the  kind  and  good  friend,  whom 
I  yet  hope  to  meet,  though  not  in  this  weary  world.10 

It  seems  but  a  day,  but  an  hour,  since  he  left  us, 

With  no  sign  to  prepare  us,  no  warning  to  pain, 

As  we  clung  to  the  hand  of  which  death  has  bereft  us, 

Little  thinking  we  never  should  clasp  it  again. 

We  ought  to  nave  thought  so ;  —  to  earth,  for  a  season, 

Worth,  friendship,  and  goodness  are  lent,  but  not  given; 

And  faith  but  confirms  the  conjecture  of  reason, 

That  the  dearest  to  earth  are  the  fittest  for  heaven. 

I  venture  to  quote  the  above,  not  as  good,  for  they  are  my  own,  but  as 
apposite,  be  they  whose  they  may.  They  were  written  on  the  loss  of  a 
very  valued  friend  and  relative,  Lord  William  Bentinck.  We  need  no 
knell  over  the  Atlantic  to  tell  us  of  the  frailty  of  human  ties.  I  have 
personally  been  spared  as  yet,  and  no  name  is  coupled  with  the  horrors  of 
our  late  Crimean  despatches  which  directly  concerns  mine  or  me ;  but 
some  have  been  reaped  in  this  bloody  harvest  whom  I  knew  enough  to 
value,  and  many  —  a  son  among  the  number  —  are  exposed  to  the  further 
chances  of  this  awful  and  apparently  interminable  struggle.  Nothing 
is  on  record  since  the  siege  of  Jerusalem,  unless  it  bo  some  of  the  pas¬ 
sages  of  the  retreat  from  Moscow,  which  equals  the  sickening  horrors  of 
the  “  Times”  of  to-day;  and  we  in  England,  though  our  people  did  what 
they  could,  and  died  in  the  Redan,  have  not  the  blaze  of  success  to  con¬ 
sole  us,  which  makes  France  forget  its  losses.  I  believe  our  cause  is  good. 
I  cannot  truly  say  that  in  other  respects,  as  a  nation,  we  have  deserved 
other  than  severe  trial,  for  we  entered  on  this  war,  in  my  opinion,  with 
much  levity,  ignorance,  and  presumption.  I  think  we  were  right  in  going 
to  war,  and  that  we  could  not  long  have  avoided  it ;  but  it  is  one  thing  to 


10  Mr.  Abbott  Lawrence 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


face  a  great  calamity  calmly  and  sternly,  from  a  sense  of  right  and  duty, 
and  another  to  court  the  encounter  with  cheers  and  jeers  and  vaunting.  I 
writhe  under  the  government  of  Journalism.  We  are  governed  at  home, 
and  represented  abroad,  by  a  press  which  makes  us  odious  to  the  world. 

I  am  here  at  Oxford  doing  rather  hard  and  unpaid  service  on  a  com¬ 
mission  for  shaping  out  and  regulating  the  introduction  of  the  changes 
directed  by  Parliament  in  the  University;  —  a  good  deal  of  dry  and 
heavy  detail,  but  not  without  interest  and  some  prospect  of  ultimate 
advantage.  I  lie  on  my  back,  and  dignities  drop  into  my  mouth.  I  am 
appointed  Lord-Lieutenant  of  Lancashire,  for  the  excellent  reason  that 
there  happens  to  be  nobody  else  who  comes  within  the  usual  category  of 
fjualilications  of  rank,  residence,  and  political  tendencies.  It  makes  me  a 
General  of  seven  regiments  of  militia,  an  Admiral,  and  Custos  Kotulorum, 
and  covers  me  with  silver-lace  and  epaulets  !  It  does  not,  thank  Heaven, 
in  Lancashire  convey,  as  in  other  counties,  the  power  of  recommending 
persons  to  the  magistracy.  The  fact  is,  there  is  usually  nothing  to  do  in 

the  office,  but  at  present  the  militia  does  involve  some  business . 

E.  Ellesmere. 


EROM  MR.  IIALL AM. 

Pick  hurst  Bkoomley,  Kent,  December  5,  1866. 

Mr  dear  Mu.  Prescott, 

I  must  return  you  my  best  thanks  for  your  very  kind  present  of  your 
“  History  of  Philip  the  Second,”  which  I  received  in  town  from  Bentley 
last  week.  I  only  repeat  the  universal  opinion  in  praising  the  philosoph¬ 
ical  depth  of  reflection,  the  justness  of  the  sentiments,  and  the  admirable 
grace  of  the  style.  I  have  not  been  lately  in  the  way  of  seeing  many 
people,  but  I  am  convinced  that  there  will  hardly  be  a  difference  of  opin¬ 
ion  upon  the  subject.  If  I  regret  anything,  it  is  that  you  have  so  large  a 
portion  of  your  labor  left  behind. 

You  are  quite  right  in  supposing  that  the  local  interest  about  public 
events  is  unfavorable  to  literature.  Macaulay’s  volumes  will  probably 
appear  within  a  fortnight.  He  prints,  I  believe,  twenty-five  thousand 
copies,  and  they  are  all  bespoken. 

With  my  best  wishes,  believe  me,  my  dear  Mr.  Prescott, 

Very  truly  yours, 

Henry  IIai.lam. 


TO  MRS.  MIL  MAN. 

Boston,  December  24,  1856. 

1  had  a  note  from  Macaulay  the  other  day,  in  which  he  spoke  of  having 
just  finished  his  book.  I  suppose  ere  now  it  is  launched  upon  the  great 
deep.  I  am  glad  that  he  has  given  me  time  to  get  out  of  the  way  with 
my  little  argosy,  before  taking  the  wind  out  of  my  sails.  His  readers  ou 


LETTER  TO  COUNT  CIRCOURT 


389 


this  side  of  she  water  count  by  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands.  There 
is  no  man  who  speaks  to  such  an  audience  as  Macaulay.  It  is  certainly  a 
great  responsibility.  I  was  sorry  to  learn  from  him  that  he  was  confined 
to  his  house.  When  I  was  in  England,  he  teemed  to  have  too  robust  a 
constitution  to  be  easily  shaken  by  disease. 

I  gather  my  little  circle  of  children  and  grandchildren  about  me  to¬ 
morrow,  to  keep  our  merry  Christmas.  There  will  be  a  touch  of  sadness 
in  it,  however ;  for  more  than  one  seat  will  be  made  vacant  by  the  death 
of  poor  Mr.  Lawrence.  His  death  has  made  a  sad  gap  in  our  family 
gatherings.  He  will  long  live  in  the  hearts  of  all  who  knew  him. 

Pray  remember  me,  my  dear  Mrs.  Milman,  in  the  kindest  manner,  to 
my  good  friend  your  husband,  and  to  your  family,  and  believe  me 
Very  truly  and  affectionately  yours, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 


TO  COUNT  ADOLPHE  DE  CIRCOURT. 

Boston,  April  7,  1856. 

My  dear  Count  Circourt, 

I  have  read  with  the  greatest  pleasure  your  letter  containing  your 
remarks  upon  “Philip  the  Second.”  The  subject  is  a  difficult  one  to 
treat,  and 'I  have  naturally  felt  a  good  deal  of  solicitude  in  regard  to  the 
judgment  of  competent  critics  upon  it.  The  opinions,  as  far  as  I  have 
gathered  them  from  the  criticisms  that  have  appeared  in  England  and  in 
this  country,  have  certainly  been  very  friendly  to  me ;  but  I  cannot  but 
feel  that  very  few  of  those  that  criticise  the  work  are  particularly  qualified 
to  judge  of  it,  for  the  simple  reason,  that  they  are  not  acquainted  with  the 
subject,  or  with  the  historic  sources  from  which  the  narrative  is  derived. 
I  was  particularly  gratified,  therefore,  to  get  an  opinion  from  you  so 
favorable  on  the  whole  to  the  execution  of  the  task.  And  yet  I  am 
aware  that,  from  a  friend  such  as  you  are,  not  merely  the  granum  salts, 
but  a  whole  bushel  of  salt,  to  take  our  English  measure,  must  be  allowed. 
I  have  also  had  the  pleasure  of  receiving  this  week  a  letter  from  Gachard, 
and  no  critic  can  be  more  qualified  certainly  in  what  relates  to  the  Nether¬ 
lands,  and  I  hope  you  will  not  think  it  vanity  in  me  when  I  say  to  you 
that  his  approval  of  my  labors  was  conveyed  in  a  tone  of  apparent  candor 
and  good  faith  which  gave  me  sincere  pleasure. 

What  gave  me  no  less  pleasure  than  your  general  commendation  was 
the  list  of  errata  which  accompanied  it;  not  that  I  was  happy  to  find  I  had 
made  so  many  blunders,  but  that  I  possessed  a  friend  who  had  the  candor 
and  sagacity  to  point  them  out.  I  am  filled  with  astonishment  when  I 
reflect  on  the  variety,  the  minuteness,  and  the  accuracy  of  your  knowl¬ 
edge.  With  this  subject,  thrown  up  by  chance  before  you,  you  seem  to 
be  as  familiar  as  if  it  had  been  your  speciality.  I  shall  not  fail  to  profit 
by  your  intelligent  criticism,  as  my  future  editions  in  England  and  my 
own  country  will  testify.  Allow  me  to  say,  however,  that  your  closing 
critique  on  a  reading  of  Balbi,  which  I  give  in  the  notes,  is  not,  I  think, 
conformable  to  the  author’s  meaning.  This  I  gather  from  the  context  as 
well  as  from  a  more  explicit  statement  on  the  subject  by  Calderon,  another 


390 


WILLIAM  niCKLING  PRESCOTT. 


authority  quoted  by  me,  from  whom  the  reasons  given  by  me  in  the  text 
are  more  especially  derived.  When  the  notice  which  you  have  been  so 
Kind  as  to  write  of  the  work  appears,  you  will  have  the  kindness  to  send 
it  to  me ;  and  this  reminds  me  that  I  have  not  been  so  fortunate  as  to 
receive  an  article  which  you  promised  some  time  since  to  send  me  on  the 
career  of  Charles  le  Tcmeraire,  a  subject  which  has  much  interest  for  me, 
and  which  I  trust  }  on  will  not  forget. 

Do  you  know  that  our  friends  the  Ticknors  propose  to  visit  Europe  id 
the  spring,  and  to  pass  a  year  or  more  on  the  Continent  ?  I  know  you 
will  like  to  take  by  the  hand  again  this  dear  old  friend,  who  has  a  mind 
as  bright,  and  a  heart  as  warm,  as  in  earlier  days.  I  know  no  one  whose 

society  I  can  so  ill  spare.  I  met  your  friend  Mrs. - last  evening,  and 

she  spoke  to  me  about  you  and  Madame  de  Circourt,  whom  she  spoke  of 
ns  being  in  a  very  poor  state  of  health.  I  was  aware  that  she  had  suf¬ 
fered  much  from  the  deplorable  accident  which  lately  befell  her ;  but  i 
trust,  for  your  sake  and  for  that  of  the  society  of  which  she  is  so  distin¬ 
guished  an  ornament,  that  her  apprehensions  have  exaggerated  the 
amount  of  her  illness. 

I  congratulate  you  on  the  termination  of  this  unhappy  war,  which 
seemed  likely  to  bring  nothing  but  misery  to  all  the  parties  engaged  in  it, 
though  Napoleon  may  have  found  his  account  in  the  lustre  which  it  has 
thrown  upon  the  French  arms ;  a  poor  compensation,  after  all,  to  a 
reflecting  mind,  for  the  inevitable  evils  of  war.  In  the  mean  time  you 
are  blessed  with  au  imperial  baby,  which,  I  suppose,  is  equivalent  to  half 
a  dozen  victories,  and  which  will  be  worth  more  to  Napoleon,  if  it  can 
serve  to  perpetuate  his  dynasty.  But  whoever  has  read  the  past  of  France 
for  the  last  thirty  years  will  feel  no  great  confidence  in  omens  for  the 
future. 

We  have  some  petty  subjects  for  quarrelling  with  John  Bull  on  hand 
just  now,  which  may  easily  be  disposed  of,  if  the  governments  of  the  two 
countries  aro  in  a  tolerably  amiable  mood.  If  they  are  not,  I  trust  there 
is  good  sense  and  good  feeling  enough  in  the  two  nations  to  prevent  their 
coming  to  blows  about  trifles  which  are  not  of  the  slightest  real  import¬ 
ance  to  either  party.  Unhappily,  it  does  sometimes  happen  that  disputes, 
which  are  founded  on  feeling  rather  than  reason,  are  the  most  difficult  for 
reasonable  men  to  settle. 

With  constant  regard,  believe  me,  my  dear  Count  Circourt, 

Very  truly  your  friend, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 


TO  SIR  CHARLES  LYELL. 

Boston,  November  11, 1856 

I  wrote  to  her  [Lady  Lyell]  in  my  last  letter,  I  think,  that  I  was  about 
to  send  something  again  in  the  historical  way  into  the  world.  The 
greater  part,  however,  is  not  my  work,  but  that  of  a  much  bigger  man. 
Robertson,  you  know,  closes  his  “  History  of  Charles  the  Fifth  ”  with  his 
reign,  bestowing  only  two  or  three  pages,  and  those  not  the  most  accurate, 


LETTER  FROM  DEAN  MILMAN. 


3d  J 

on  his  life  aftei  his  abdication.  As  his  reign  comes  between  that  of  Fer¬ 
dinand  and  Isabella  and  the  reign  of  that  virtuous  monarch  Philip  the 
Second  (who  may  be  considered  as  to  other  Catholics  what  a  Puseyite 
is  to  other  Protestants),  my  publishers  thought  it  would  be  a  proper 
thing  —  that  is  a  good  thing  —  if  I  were  to  furnish  a  continuation  of  Rob¬ 
ertson,  for  which  I  have  the  materials,  so  as  to  bring  him  within  the 
regular  series  of  my  historical  works.  This  I  have  accordingly  done  to 
the  tune  of  some  hundred  and  fifty  pages,  with  comparatively  little  trouble 
to  myself,  having  already  touched  on  this  theme  in  “Philip  the  Second.” 
It  was  intended  for  the  Yankee  public  in  particular ;  but  Routledge  brings 
it  out  in  London  in  four  editions  at  once ;  and  a  copy  of  the  largest  octavo 
I  have  ordered  him  to  send  to  you.  Do  not  trouble  yourself  to  read  it, 
or  thank  me  for  it,  but  put  it  on  your  shelves,  as  a  memento  of  friend¬ 
ship,  very  sincere,  for  you. 

FROM  DEAN  MILMAN. 

Deanery  St.  Paul's,  December  1,  1866. 

My  dear  Friend, 

The  date  of  your  last  letter  looks  reproachfully  at  me,  but  I  am  sure 
that  you  will  ascribe  my  long  silence  to  anything  rather  than  want  of  the 
most  sincere  and  cordial  friendship.  I  received  it  during  our  summer 
wanderings  in  Germany,  where  we  passed  many  weeks  — holiday-weeks  — 
in  great  enjoyment,  and,  I  rejoice  and  am  thankful  to  be  able  to  say,  in 
uninterrupted,  perhaps  improved,  health.  We  paid  a  visit  to  our  friend 
Bunsen  at  Heidelberg,  whom  we  found  (I  know  not  whether  you  made  his 
acquaintance  in  England)  in  the  dignity  and  happiness  of  literary  quiet  and 
labor,  after  having  so  honorably  lost  his  high  diplomatic  position.  He 
has  a  beautifully  situated  house,  looking  over  the  bright  Neckar,  and  up 
to  the  noble  ruins  of  the  Castle.  From  thence  we  took  the  course  of 
the  fine  Bavarian  cities,  Aschaffenburg,  Wurtzburg,  Bamberg,  Nurem¬ 
berg.  At  Donauwik  we  launched  on  the  rapid  Danube,  and  followed  its 
stream  to  Vienna  and  to  Pestli.  To  us  the  Danube  is  a  noble  stream, 
especially  after  its  junction  with  the  Inn,  amid  the  magnificent  scenery 
about  Passau  ;  though  I  know  that  you  Americans  give  yourselves  great 
airs,  and  would  think  but  lightly  of  the  power  and  volume  of  such  a 
river.  From  Vienna  to  Prague  and  Dresden.  At  Dresden  we  had  the 
great  pleasure  of  falling  in  with  the  Tick  no rs,  whom  I  had  frequently 
seen  during  their  short  stay  in  London ;  and  also  with  their  most  charm¬ 
ing  relative,  our  friend  Mrs.  Twisleton  and  her  lord.  Then  to  Berlin, 
and  after  a  peep  into  Holland  we  found  our  way  home.  We,  indeed, 
have  been  hardly  settled,  at  home  (having  paid  some  visits  in  the  autumn) 
till  within  two  or  three  weeks. 

Among  the  parcels  which  awaited  me  on  my  arrival  was  your  graceful 
and  just  tribute  to  the  memory  of  our  excellent  friend,  poor  Mr.  Lawrence. 
I  should  have  read  it  with  great  interest  for  his  sake  if  from  another  hand, 
—  with  how  much  more,  when  it  came  from  you,  executed  with  your  ac¬ 
customed  skill  and  your  pleasant  style,  heightened  by  your  regret  and 
affection. 


392 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PEESCOTT. 


I  have  not  yet  seen  your  concluding  chapters  (announced  in  this  week’s 
Athenaeum)  to  the  new  edition  of  Robertson’s  “  Charles  the  Fifth.”  I 
doubt  not  that  you  have  found  much  to  say,  and  much  that  we  shall  be 

glad  to  read,  after  Stirling’s  agreeable  book . (By  the  way,  at  tho 

Goldene  Kreu/.  Hotel  at  Regensburg  [Ratisbon],  which  was  once  a  fino 
palace,  they  show  the  room  in  which  John  of  Austria  was  born.)  But 
his  life  is  comparatively  of  trivial  moment  in  the  darkening  tragedy  (for 
you  must  allow  it  to  gather  all  its  darkness)  of  Philip  the  Second’s  later 
years.  Though  I  would  on  no  account  urge  you  to  haste  incompatible 
with  the  full  investigation  of  all  the  accumulating  materials  of  those  fear¬ 
ful  times,  yet  you  must  not  allow  any  one  else  to  step  in  before  you,  and 
usurp  the  property  which  you  have  so  good  a  right  to  claim  in  that  awful 
impersonation  of  all  that  is  anti-Christian  in  him  who  went  to  his  grave 
■with  the  conviction,  that  he,  above  all  other  men,  had  discharged  the 
duties  of  a  Christian  monarch. 

I  am  now,  as  you  may  suppose,  enjoying  my  repose  with  all  my  full 
and  unexhausted  interest  in  literary  subjects,  in  history  especially,  and 
poetry,  (I  trust  that  it  will  last  as  long  as  my  life,)  but  without  engaging 
in  any  severe  or  continuous  labor.  Solve  senescentem,  is  one  of  the  wisest 
adages  of  wise  antiquity,  though  the  aged  horse,  if  he  finds  a  pleasant 
meadow,  may  allow  himself  a  light  and  easy  canter.  I  am  taking  most 
kindly  to  my  early  friends,  the  classic  writers  ;  having  read,  in  the  course 
of  my  later  life,  so  much  bad  Greek  and  Latin,  I  have  a  right  to  refresh 
myself,  and  very  refreshing  it  is,  with  the  fine  clear  writings  of  Greece 
and  Rome . 

So  far  had  I  written  when,  behold  !  your  second  letter  made  its  appear¬ 
ance,  announcing  your  promised  present  of  “  Charles  the  Fifth.”  I  at 
first  thought  of  throwing  what  I  had  written  behind  the  fire,  but  soon  de¬ 
termined  rather  to  inflict  upon  you  another  sheet,  with  my  best  thanks, 
and  assurances  that  I  shall  not  leave  my  neighbor  Mr.  Routledge  long  at 
peace . 

And  now  to  close,  my  dear  friend,  I  must  add  Mrs.  Milman’s  kind  love. 
She  begs  me  to  say  that  you  have  read  her  a  lesson  of  charity  towards 
Philip  the  Second,  which  she  almost  doubts  whether  your  eloquence  can 
fully  enforce  upon  her . 

H.  H.  Milman. 

Do  come  and  see  us  again,  or  make  me  twenty  years  younger,  that  I 
may  cross  to  you. 

TO  LADY  MARY  LABOUCHERE. 

Boston,  February  7,  1S57. 

My  dear  Ladt  Mary, 

It  was  with  very  great  pleasure  that  I  received  the  kind  note  in  your 
handwriting,  which  looked  like  a  friend  that  I  had  not  looked  upon  for  a 
long  time.  And  this  was  followed  soon  after  by  the  portrait  of  your  dea* 
mother,  forwarded  to  me  by  Colnaghi  from  London.  It  is  an  excellent 
likeness,  and  recalls  the  same  sweet  and  benevolent  expression  which  has 
lingered  in  my  memory  ever  siuce  I  parted  from  her  at  Castle  Howard 


LETTER  TO  LADY  LYELL. 


393 


I  have  wished  that  I  could  think  that  I  should  ever  see  her  again  in  her 
princely  resilience.  But  there  is  little  chance,  I  fear,  of  my  meeting  her 
again  in  this  world.  Pray,  when  you  next  see  her,  give  my  most  respect¬ 
ful  aud  affectionate  remembrances  to  her.  You  have  been  fortunate  in 
keeping  one  parent  from  the  skies  so  long.  My  own  mother  survived  till 
some  few  years  since,  and  we  were  never  parted  till  death  came  between 
us.  This  is  a  blessing  not  to  be  estimated.  And  she  was  so  good  that 
her  removal,  at  the  age  of  eighty-four,  was  an  event  less  to  be  mourned  on 
her  account  than  on  ours  who  survived  her. 

I  was  extremely  sorry  to  hear  of  Lord  Ellesmere’s  severe  illness.  Sir 
Henry  Holland  gave  me  some  account  of  it  in  a  letter  some  time  since. 
From  what  you  write  and  what  I  have  heard  elsewhere,  I  fear  that  his 
restoration  to  health  is  still  far  from  being  complete. 

I  wish  there  were  any  news  here  that  would  interest  you.  But  I 
lead  a  very  quiet,  domestic  sort  of  life,  which,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
affords  little  that  is  new.  I  am  at  present  robbed  of  both  my  sons,  who 
are  passing  this  winter  in  Paris,  and  probably  will  pass  the  next  in  Italy. 
The  eldest  has  his  wife  and  children  with  him,  and  I  carry  on  a  sort  of 
nursery  correspondence  with  my  little  granddaughter,  who  has  almost 
reached  die  respectable  age  of  five.  My  own  daughter,  Mrs.  Lawrence, 
and  her  two  children,  live  within  a  stone’s-throw  of  me,  both  in  Boston 
and  in  the  country,  where  we  pass  our  summers.  And  this  doubles  the 
happiness  of  life. 

It  is  a  pleasant  thing  for  us  that  our  two  nations  should  have  such 
kindly  feelings  as  they  now  seem  to  have  for  one  another.  The  little 
affair  of  the  “Resolute”  seems  to  have  called  them  all  out.  We  are 
brethren  who  have  too  large  an  inheritance  in  common  of  the  past  to  for¬ 
get  it  all  for  some  petty  quarrel  about  a  thing  which  can  be  of  no  real 
importance  to  cither. 

I  am  glad  to  learn  that  the  members  of  your  own  family  are  in  such 
good  health.  I  suppose  you  see  little  of  Morpeth,  to  whom  I  write  occa¬ 
sionally,  and  think  myself  lucky  when  I  get  an  answer,  especially  when  it 
comes  through  so  kind  a  secretary  as  you.  I  am  not  likely  to  forget  your 
features,  for  the  charming  portrait  which  you  last  sent  me  stands  in  a 
frame  on  a  ledge  of  my  book-case  in  the  library,  which  is  our  sitting- 
room. 

Pray  remember  me  most  kindly  to  your  sisters  and  your  brother 
Charles,  and  believe  me,  dear  Lady  Mary,  with  sincere  regards  to  Mr 
Labouchere, 

Most  truly  and  affectionately  yours, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 

TO  LADY  LYELL. 


Boston,  April  4,  1867. 

I  believe  I  told  you  of  my  headaches,  which  Jackson  considers  as  be¬ 
longing  to  my  rheumatic  habits,  and  bred  in  the  bone.  Very  bad  habits 
they  are.  I  am  happy  to  say  the  aches  have  nearly  subsided,  though  I 
have  lost  two  good  months  by  them.  Agassiz,  who  dined  with  me  on 

17  * 


394 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


Wednesday,  filled  me  with  envy  by  saying  he  had  worked  fifteen  hours  th« 
day  before.  What  is  the  man  made  of  ?  The  great  book  on  Turtles  has 
been  delayed,  from  his  desire  to  make  it  more  complete.  He  has  brought 
into  it  discussions  on  a  great  variety  of  themes  terrestrial  and  celestial.  It 
reminded  me,  I  told  him,  of  the  old  cosmographical  myth  of  the  Indians, 
where  the  world  was  said  to  rest  on  an  elephant  and  the  elephant  on  the 
back  of  a  tortoise.  For  myself,  I  think  it  would  be  a  great  improvement 
if  he  would  furnish  a  chapter  on  turtle-doves,  with  their  tender  associations, 
instead  of  the  real  turtle,  whose  best  associations,  as  far  as  1  know,  are 
those  connected  with  an  alderman  or  a  lord-mayor’s  feast.  But  Agassiz 
thinks  he  has  not  half  exhausted  the  subject . 

FROM  MR.  IRVING. 

SuxxrsiDE,  August  25,  1857. 

My  dear  Mr.  Prescott, 

You  say  “  you  don’t  know  whether  I  care  about  remarks  on  my  books 
from  friends,  though  they  be  brothers  of  the  craft.”  I  cannot  pretend  to 
oe  above  the  ordinary  sensitiveness  of  authorship,  and  am  especially  alive 
to  the  remarks  of  a  master-workman  like  yourself.  I  have  never  been  less 
confident  of  myself  and  more  conscious  of  my  short-comings,  than  on  this 
my  last  undertaking,  and  have  incessantly  feared  that  the  interest  might 
flag  beneath  my  pen.  You  may  judge,  therefore,  how  much  I  have  been 
gratified  by  your  assurance  that  the  interest  felt  by  yourself  and  Mrs.  Pres¬ 
cott  on  reading  the  work  “  went  on  crescendo  from  the  beginning,  and  did 
not  reach  its  climax  till  the  last  pages.” 

I  thank  you,  therefore,  most  heartily,  for  your  kind  and  acceptable 
letter,  which  enables  mo  to  cheer  myself  with  the  persuasion  that  I  have 
not  ventured  into  the  field  ouce  too  often ;  and  that  my  last  production 
has  escaped  the  fate  of  the  Archbishop  of  Granada’s. 

You  hint  a  wish  that  I  would  visit  your  Northern  latitudes,  and  partake 
of  the  good-fellowship  that  exists  there  ;  and,  indeed,  it  would  give  me  the 
greatest  pleasure  to  enjoy  eommunionship  with  a  few  choice  spirits  like 
yourself,  but  I  have  a  growing  dread  of  the  vortex  of  gay  society  into 
which  I  am  apt  to  be  drawn  if  I  stir  from  home.  In  fact,  the  habits  of 
literary  occupation,  which  of  late  years  I  have  indulged  to  excess,  have 
almost  unfitted  me  for  idle,  gentlemanly  life.  Relaxation  and  repose  begin 
to  be  insupportable  to  me,  and  I  feel  an  unhealthy  hankering  after  my 
study,  and  a  disposition  to  relapse  into  hard  writing. 

Take  warning  by  my  case,  and  beware  of  literary  intemperance. 

Ever,  my  dear  Prescott, 

Yours  very  truly, 

Washington  Irving 

TO  LADY  LYELL. 

November  80,  1867 

When  the  times  are  bad,  I  fortunately  have  a  snug  retreat  on  my  litter 
farm  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  an  hour  or  two’s  conversation  with  my 


LETTER  TO  LADY  LYELL. 


395 


good  friend  Philip  generally  puts  me  at  peace  with  the  world.  I  suppose 
you  eschew  all  books  while  you  are  on  the  wing.  If  you  ever  meet  with 
an  English  one,  and  can  get  hold  of  Thackeray's  last,  “  The  Virginians,” 
publishing  in  numbers,  I  believe,  in  England  as  well  as  here,  I  wish  you 
would  look  at  it,  if  only  to  read  the  first  paragraph,  in  which  he  pays  a 
very  nice  tribute  to  my  old  swords  of  Bunker  Hill  renown,  and  to  their 
unworthy  proprietor.  It  was  very  prettily  done  of  him.  I  am  well  booked 
up  now  in  regard  to  my  English  friends,  first  from  the  Ticknors,  whom  I 
have  examined  and  cross-examined  until  I  am  well  enough  acquainted 
with  their  experiences,  and  now  Sumner  has  arrived  and  given  me  four  or 
five  hours’  worth  of  his  in  an  uninterrupted  stream,  and  a  very  pleasant 
raconteur  he  is,  especially  when  he  talks  of  the  friends  of  whom  I  have  such 
a  loving  remembrance  on  your-  side  of  the  water.  He  seems  to  have  had 
quite  a  triumphant  reception.  When  a  Yankee  makes  his  appearance  in 
London  circles,  the  first  question  asked,  I  fancy,  if  they  think  him  worth 
asking  any  about,  is  whether  he  is  a  pro-slavery  man,  or  an  anti-slavery, 
and  deal  with  him  accordingly.  It  would  seem  droll  if,  when  an  English¬ 
man  lights  on  our  soil,  the  first  question  we  should  ask  should  be  whether 
he  was  in  favor  of  making  the  Chinese  swallow  opium,  or  whether  he  was 
opposed  to  it ;  as  if  that  were  not  only  the  moral,  but  the  social,  standard 
by  which  everything  was  to  be  tested,  and  we  were  to  cut  him  or  caress 
him  accordingly.  But  Sumner  was  hailed  as  a  maityr,  and  enjoys  — 
quite  contrary  to  usage  —  the  crown  of  martyrdom  during  his  own  life¬ 
time.  His  ovation  has  agreed  with  him,  and  he  goes  to  Washington  tnis 
week . 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


1858-  1859. 

PrasT  Attack  of  Apoplexy.— Yields  readily.  —  Clearness  of  Mind. 
Composure.  —  Infirmities.  —  Gradual  Improvement. —  Occupa¬ 
tions.—  Prints  tiie  third  Volume  of  “  Philip  the  Second.”  —  Sum¬ 
mer  at  Lynn  and  Pepperell.  —  Notes  to  the  “Conquest  of  Mex¬ 
ico.”— Keturn  to  Boston.  — Desire  for  active  Literary  Labor.— 
Ague.  —  Correspondence. 

ON  the  4th  of  February,  1858,  in  the  afternoon,  I  hap¬ 
pened  to  call  on  my  friend  for  a  little  visit  or  a  walk, 
that  being  the  portion  of  the  day  in  which,  from  our  respective 
occupations,  we  oftenest  saw  each  other.  As  I  entered,  the 
air  of  the  servant  who  opened  the  door  surprised  me,  and  I 
hardly  understood  the  words  he  uttered  with  great  emotion,  to 
tell  me  that  Mr.  Prescott  was  suddenly  and  seriously  ill.  He 
tad,  in  fact,  been  seized  in  the  street  a  couple  of  hours  before, 
and  the  affection  was  evidently  of  the  brain,  and  apoplectic. 

The  attack  occurred  just  on  his  return  from  his  accustomed 
walk  in  the  early  afternoon.  Indeed,  he  reached  home  with 
some  difficulty,  and  went,  not  without  much  effort,  at  once, 
and  as  it  were  instinctively  and  almost  unconsciously,  to  his 
working  study.  His  mind  wandered  for  a  few  moments,  and 
his  powers  of  speech  and  motion  were  partly  suspended.  The 
earliest  articulate  words  he  uttered  were  to  his  wife,  as  she  was 
tenderly  leaning  over  him  :  “  My  poor  wife  !  I  am  so  sorry  l'or 
you,  that  this  has  come  upon  you  so  soon  !  ” 

The  symptoms  were  not  formidable,  and  those  that  seemed 
most  threatening  yielded  to  remedies  in  the  course  of  the 
afternoon.  His  venerable  physician,  Dr.  Jackson,  expressed 
himself  to  me  at  nine  o’clock  in  the  evening  with  much  hope¬ 
fulness,  and  the  next  day  nearly  all  anxiety  concerning  an 
immediate  recurrence  of  the  disease  was  gone.  But  a  mark 
had  been  made  on  his  physical  constitution  which  was  never  to 
be  obliterated. 


FIRST  ATTACK  OF  APOPLEXY. 


397 


For  the  first  two  days  he  was  kept  almost  entirely  in  bed, 
and  in  a  state  of  absolute  rest  and  quietness,  with  his  room 
somewhat  darkened.  On  the  third  day  I  saw  him.  He  talked 
with  me  as  clearly  as  he  ever  had  when  in  full  health,  and 
with  intellectual  faculties  as  unclouded.  But  his  utterance 
was  slightly  affected.  His  movements  were  no  longer  assured. 
A  few  words  and  many  proper  names  did  not  come  promptly 
at  his  summons.  He  occasionally  seemed  to  see  figures  —  espe¬ 
cially  the  figure  of  a  gentleman  in  black  — -  moving  about  the 
room,  though  he  was  quite  aware  that  the  whole  was  an  opti¬ 
cal  delusion.  If  he  looked  into  a  book,  one  line  was  strangely 
mingled  with  another,  and  the  whole  became  confused  and 
illegible.  All  this  he  explained  to  me  in  the  simplest  and 
clearest  manner,  as  if  he  were  speaking,  not  of  his  own  case, 
but  of  that  of  another  person.  He  was,  in  fact,  not  under  the 
smallest  misapprehension  as  to  the  nature  of  his  attack,  nor 
as  to  what  might  be  its  consequences  at  a  moment’s  notice. 
Neither  did  he  at  all  exaggerate  his  danger,  or  seem  alarmed 
or  anxious  at  the  prospect  before  him.  He  saw  his  condition 
as  his  physicians  and  his  family  saw  it,  and  as  the  result  proved 
that  it  must  have  been  from  the  first. 

In  five  or  six  days  he  walked  out  with  assistance  ;  but  he 
was  put  upon  a  rigorous,  vegetable  diet,  and  his  strength  re¬ 
turned  slowly  and  imperfectly.  After  a  few  weeks  the  irregu¬ 
larity  in  his  vision  was  corrected ;  his  tread  became  so  much 
more  firm  that  he  ventured  into  the  streets  alone ;  and  his 
enunciation,  except  to  the  quick  ear  of  affection,  was  again 
distinct  and  natural.  But  his  utterance  never  ceased  to  be 
marked  with  a  slight  effort ;  proper  names  were  never  again  so 
easily  recalled  as  they  had  been  ;  and,  although  his  appropriate 
gait  was  recovered,  it  was  at  best  a  little  slower  than  it  had 
been,  and,  in  the  last  weeks  of  his  life,  when  I  walked  with 
him  a  good  deal,  he  sometimes  moved  very  heavily,  and  more 
than  once  called  my  attention  to  this  circumstance  as  to  a  con¬ 
siderable  change  in  his  condition.  In  his  general  appearance, 
however,  at  least  to  a  casual  observer,  in  the  expression  of  his 
fine  manly  countenance,  and  in  his  whole  outward  bearing,  he 
seemed  such  as  he  had  always  been.  Those,  therefore,  who 
saw  him  only  as  he  was  met  in  his  accustomed  walks,  thought 


398 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


him  quite  recovered.  But  his  family  and  his  more  intimate 
friends  were  too  vigilant  to  be  thus  deluded.  They  knew,  from 
the  tirst,  that  he  was  no  longer  the  same. 

Iieading  was  the  earliest  pleasure  he  enjoyed,  except  that 
of  the  society  of  his  household  and  of  a  chosen  few  out  of  it. 
But  it  was  only  the  lightest  hooks  to  which  he  could  listen 
safely,  —  novels  and  tales,  —  and  it  was  only  those  he  liked 
best,  such  as  Miss  Edgeworth’s  Helen  and  Scott’s  Guy  Man- 
nering,  that  could  satisfy  him  enough  to  enable  him  to  keep  his 
attention  fastened  on  them.  Even  of  such  he  soon  wearied, 
and  turned  with  more  interest,  though  not  with  conviction,  to 
parts  of  Buckle’s  first  volume  on  the  “  History  of  Civilization,” 
then  recently  published.1 

A  very  different  and  a  stronger  interest,  however,  he  felt  in 
listening,  as  he  did  a  little  later,  to  the  accounts  of  cases  of 
eminent  men  of  letters  resembling  his  own ;  to  Adam  Fergu¬ 
son’s,  in  the  Memoirs  of  Lord  Cockburn,  which  was  full  of 
encouragement,  and  to  Scott’s,  in  Lockhart’s  “Life,”  which,  on 
the  other  hand,  could  not  fail  to  sadden  him,  and  yet  which 
he  insisted  on  following,  through  all  its  painful  details,  to  its 
disheartening,  tragical  catastrophe. 

This  pliasis  of  his  disease,  however,  passed  gradually  away, 
and  then  he  began  to  crave  afresh  the  occupations  and  modes 
of  life  to  which  he  had  always  been  accustomed  ;  —  simple,  both, 
•is  they  could  be,  and  laborious,  but  which  had  become  seriously 
important  to  him  from  long  habit.  His  physician  advised  a 
very  moderate  and  cautious  use  of  wine ;  a  glass  a  day  at  first, 
and  afterwards  a  little  more,  so  as  to  increase  his  strength,  and 
enable  him  to  return,  in  some  degree  at  least,  to  the  studies 
that  were  so  necessary  to  his  daily  happiness ;  still  restricting 
him,  however,  to  a  merely  vegetable  diet.  The  prescriptions 
were  rigorously  obeyed ;  and  he  was  able  soon  to  take  exercise 
in  walking  equal  to  four  miles  a  day,  which,  if  it  was  mate¬ 
rially  less  than  he  had  found  useful  and  easy  when  he  was  in 

1  When  Professor  Playfair  was  suffering  from  his  last  painful  disease,  his 
affectionate  attendants  tried  to  amuse  him  with  the  early  novels  of  Scott,  then 
yust  in  the  course  of  publication,  and  other  books  of  the  same  sort,  which, 
when  well,  he  much  enjoyed.  But  now  they  soon  became  wearisome  to  him. 

“  Try  a  little  of  Newton’s  ‘  Priucipia,’  ”  said  the  dying  philosopher;  and,  foi 
e  time,  his  attention  was  commanded. 


LAST  RESIDENCE  IN  PEPPERELL. 


399 


full  health,  was  yet  much  more  than  he  had  of  late  been  able  to 
sustain.  It  was,  therefore,  a  great  point  gained,  and  he  thank¬ 
fully  acknowledged  it  to  be  such.  But  still  he  marked  the 
difference  in  his  general  strength,  and  knew  its  meaning. 

Encouraged,  however,  by  his  improvement,  such  as  it  was, 
and  permitted  at  least,  if  not  counselled  to  it,  by  his  medical 
adviser,  he  now  adventured  once  more  within  the  domain  of 
his  old  and  favorite  studies.  He  did  not,  indeed,  undertake  to 
prepare  anything  for  the  fourth  volume  of  “  Philip  the  Sec¬ 
ond  ” ;  nor  did  he  even  go  on  to  fill  out  the  third  to  the  full 
proportions  into  which  he  had  originally  determined  to  cast  it 
But  the  conclusion  of  the  last  chapter  that  he  ever  finished, 
a  few  paragraphs  only  —  which,  as  was  his  wont,  he  had,  I 
believe,  composed  before  his  attack  and  had  preserved  to  a 
good  degree  in  his  memory  —  was  now  reduced  to  writing, 
and  the  manuscript  completed  so  far  as  it  was  destined  ever 
to  be. 

In  April,  1858,  he  went  to  press  with  it,  and  in  the  course 
of  the  summer  the  stereotyping  was  finished;  the  whole  having 
undergone,  as  it  advanced,  a  careful  revision  from  his  ever- 
faithful  friend,  Mr.  Folsom.  In  this  part  of  the  work  of  pub¬ 
lishing,  he  took  much  pleasure ;  more,  I  believe,  than  he  had 
before  in  any  similar  case.  The  reason  is  simple.  He  did  not 
like  to  think  that  he  was,  in  consequence  of  his  diminished 
strength,  obliged  to  reduce  the  amount  of  his  intellectual  exer¬ 
tions  ;  and,  while  his  present  occupation  was  light  and  easy, 
he  could  feel  that  it  was  indispensable,  and  that  it  came  now 
in  regular  course,  instead  of  being  taken  up  because  he  was 
unequal  to  work  that  was  heavier.  He  expressed  this  to  me 
with  much  satisfaction  at  Lynn  one  day  after  dinner,  when  lie 
was  near  the  end  of  his  task  ;  for,  although  he  felt  the  fearful 
>mcertainty  of  his  condition,  he  did  not  like  to  think  that  he 
was  in  any  degree  yielding  to  it.  His  courage,  in  this  respect, 
was  absolute.  It  never  faltered. 

At  Pepperell,  where  he  went  on  the  25th  of  September,  he 
ventured  a  little  further.  In  1844  two  translations  of  his 
“  Conquest  of  Mexico  ”  had  appeared  in  Mexico  itself,  one  of 
which  was  rendered  more  than  commonly  important  by  the 
comments  of  Don  Jose  F.  Ramirez  at  the  end  of  the  second 


400 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


volume,  and  the  other  by  the  notes  of  Don  Lucas  Alaman,  a 
statesman  and  man  of  letters  of  no  mean  rank,  who  had  long 
occupied  himself  with  the  history  of  his  country.  Mr.  Prescott 
now  busied  himself  with  these  materials,  as,  I  think,  he  had 
done  before,  and  prepared  a  considerable  number  of  additions 
and  emendations  for  a  future  edition  of  the  original  work. 

“  I  am  now  amusing  myself,”  he  says,  under  the  date  of  Sep¬ 
tember  30th,  “  with  making  some  emendations  and  additional 
notes  for  a  new  edition,  some  day  or  other,  of  the  ‘  Conquest 
of  Mexico.’  Two  Mexican  translations  of  the  work,  enriched 
with  annotations,  furnish  a  pretty  good  stock  of  new  materials 
for  the  purpose.”  The  amount  that  he  accomplished  is  con¬ 
siderable,  and  it  will,  I  hope,  be  used  hereafter,  as  its  author 
intended  it  should  be. 

But  though  such  labor  was  light  compared  with  that  needful 
in  the  prosecution  of  his  studies  for  the  “  History  of  Philip  the 
Second,”  if  he  had  ventured  to  take  them  up  in  earnest,  still 
little  that  he  did  during  that  summer  and  autumn  was  wholly 
free  from  painful  effort.  I  witnessed  it  more  than  once  while 
he  was  at  Lynn,  where  headaches,  though  treated  as  of  little 
account,  yet  gave  occasion  for  grave  apprehensions,  —  not  the 
less  grave,  because  their  expression,  which  could  have  done 
only  harm,  was  carefully  forborne  by  those  about  him. 

His  occupations  at  Pepperell,  however,  can  hardly  have  in¬ 
jured  him.  At  any  rate,  he  felt  that  what  he  had  done  had 
been  an  amusement  rather  than  anything  else ;  and  when  he 
left  that  much-loved  region,  wdth  its  cheerful  drives  and  walks, 
and  with  all  the  tender  associations  that  rested  on  it,  —  that 
tapestried  the  rooms  of  the  old  house  and  lighted  up  the  whole 
landscape,  and  its  waters,  woods,  and  hills,  —  he  made  the  fol¬ 
lowing  simple  record :  — 

Pepperell,  October  2Sth.  —  Return  to  town  to-morrow.  The  country 
is  now  in  its  splendid  autumn  robe,  somewhat  torn,  however,  and  draggled 
by  the  rain.  Have  been  occupied  with  corrections  and  additions  to  my 
“  Mexico.”  On  my  return  to  Boston  shall  resume  my  labors  on  “  Philip,” 
and,  if  my  health  continues  as  good  as  it  has  been  this  summer,  shall 
hope  to  make  some  progress.  But  I  shall  not  press  matters.  Our  villeg- 
jiatura  has  been  brightened  by  the  presence  of  all  the  children  and  grand¬ 
children,  God  bless  them  !  And  now  we  scatter  again,  but  not  far  apart 

These  touching  words  are  the  last  he  ever  wrote  in  the 


LAST  OCCUPATIONS. 


401 


private  Memoranda,  which  he  had  now  kept  above  forty  years, 
and  there  are  no  wrords  in  the  whole  mass  of  above  twelve 
hundred  pages  that  are  more  expressive  of  what  was  peculiar 
to  him.  His  domestic  affections  were  always  uppermost  in  his 
character,  and  never  more  so  than  they  were  in  the  last  weeks 
and  months  of  his  life ;  indeed,  I  think,  never  so  much  and 
so  manifestly.  How  he  loved  his  children,  —  all  his  children, 
—  how  he  delighted  in  his  grandchildren,  how  he  held  them 
all  “  in  liis  heart  of  heart,”  those  who  most  knew  him,  knew 
best 

On  his  return  to  Boston,  he  looked  stronger  than  he  did  when 
he  left  it  four  months  earlier.  His  spirits  were  more  natural ; 
sometimes  as  bright  as  they  had  ever  been.  He  was  in  better 
flesh,  and  his  muscular  power  was  increased,  although  not 
much.  But  I  think  he  never  passed  a  day  without  a  sense  of 
the  shadow  that  he  knew  must  always  rest  on  his  way  of  life, 
whether  it  should  be  long  or  short. 

During  the  first  weeks  after  his  coming  to  town,  he  was 
occupied  with  affairs  that  had  accumulated  during  his  absence. 
As  usual,  they  somewhat  wearied  and  annoyed  him ;  perhaps 
more  than  they  had  on  other  similar  occasions.  But  he  dis¬ 
missed  them  from  his  thoughts  as  soon  as  he  could,  and  then 
he  seemed  to  turn  with  a  sort  of  irresistible  craving  to  the  in¬ 
tellectual  pursuits  which  long  habit  and  conscientious  devotion 
to  them  had  made  so  important  to  his  happiness. 

About  New  Year  of  1859,  he  spoke  to  me  more  than  once 
of  a  change  in  his  modes  of  life.  He  thought,  as  he  told  me, 
that,  if  his  diet  were  made  more  nourishing,  his  general  strength 
would  be  improved,  and  he  should  thus  become  capable  of  more 
labor  in  all  ways,  and  especially  upon  his  “  Philip  the  Second.” 
On  this,  however,  he  did  not  venture.  His  obedience  to  his 
medical  director  was  exact  to  the  last.  He  restrained  himself 
rigorously  to  a  vegetable  diet,  and  never  took  more  wine  than 
was  prescribed  to  him,  as  if  it  had  been  a  medicine. 

But  he  could  not  fully  resist  the  temptation  of  his  old  books 
and  manuscripts ;  nor  was  he  altogether  discouraged  by  his  wise 
professional  adviser  from  making  an  inconsiderable  and  wary 
experiment  with  them.  Indeed,  something  of  the  sort  seemed 
to  have  become  important  for  his  health  as  well  as  for  his  3pir- 


402 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


its,  which  were  now  pining  for  the  aliment  that  was  demanded 
alike  by  his  physical  and  moral  constitution.  During  two  or 
three  weeks,  therefore,  he  was  occupied  with  that  portion  of 
the  History  of  Philip  the  Second  with  which  his  fourth  volume 
would  necessarily  open.  His  researches,  no  doubt,  were  not 
as  laborious  as  they  had  sometimes  been,  when  he  was  busy 
with  a  difficult  subject.  They  were,  in  fact,  entirely  prefatory, 
involving  only  the  plan  of  an  opening  chapter,  and  the  general 
mode  in  which  that  part  of  the  war  of  the  Netherlands  might 
be  discussed,  to  which  the  volume  itself  was  to  be  largely 
devoted.  Even  in  this,  I  believe,  he  was  careful,  and  gave 
much  less  time  to  work  than  was  his  wont.  But  whenever  he 
thought,  he  thought  intently.  He  could  not  help  it.  It  was 
a  habit  which  he  had  cultivated  with  so  much  care,  that  he 
could  not  now  shake  it  off.  It  is  possible,  therefore,  that  his 
occupations  during  these  weeks  were  among  the  causes  that 
hastened  the  final  event.  But  if  they  were,  their  influence 
must  have  been  small.  Nothing  gave  token  of  what,  from 
inscrutable  causes,  was  not  only  inevitable,  but  was  near. 

About  a  fortnight  before  his  death,  he  suffered  from  an  ague, 
which  gave  him  so  much  pain,  that  it  entirely  interrupted  his 
accustomed  occupations.  During  the  five  or  six  days  of  its 
continuance,  I  spent  the  leisure  of  each  afternoon  with  him. 
His  strength  was  a  good  deal  diminished,  and  he  was  generally 
lying  on  his  sofa  when  I  saw  him  ;  but  never  was  he  brighter 
or  more  agreeable,  never  more  cheerful  or  more  interesting. 
And  so  it  continued  to  the  end.  I  saw  him  only  twice  or  three 
times  afterwards ;  but  those  who  were  constantly  with  him,  and 
watched  every  word  and  movement  with  affectionate  solicitude, 
observed  no  change. 

That  his  intellectual  faculties  were  not  affected,  and  that 
his  temperament  had  lost  little  of  its  charming  gayety,  the 
letters  and  memoranda  of  the  year  leave  no  doubt.  They 
were  not,  I  suppose,  always  written  without  effort,  but  the 
effort  was  successful,  which,  in  general,  it  would  not  have 
been,  and  in  his  case  was  so  in  consequence  mainly  of  the 
original  elements  that  had  been  so  gently  mixed  in  his  whole 
nature. 


LETTER  TO  MR.  BANCROFT, 


403 


TO  MR.  BANCROFT. 

Boston,  February  19  (indorsed  1868). 

Dear  Bancroft, 

It  is  well  enough  for  a  man  to  be  ill  sometimes,  if  it  is  only  to  show 
m  him  the  affectionate  sympathy  of  his  friends,  though  in  truth  this  was 
hardly  necessary  to  prove  yours.  Two  weeks  since  I  had  a  slight  touch 
of  paralysis,  which  should  have  fallen  on  a  man  of  more  flesh  than  I  can 
noast.  It  was  so  slight,  however,  that  the  doctor  thinks  there  was  no 
rupture  of  any  vessel  in  the  brain.  The  effects  of  it  hav"  passed  off, 
excepting  only  some  slight  damage  in  that  part  of  the  cranium  which 
holds  proper  names.  I  am  somewhat  reduced,  as  much  perhaps  in  conse¬ 
quence  of  the  diet  I  am  put  upon  as  the  disease  ;  for  meat  and  generous 
wine  are  proscribed  for  the  present. 

So  you  are  to  make  your  bow  to  the  public  in  i.fay  ;  j.nct  the  world,  I 
have  no  doubt,  as  it  shows  signs  of  revival,  will  gladly  wake  from  its 
winter’s  trance  to  receive  you. 

That  is  a  charming  paragraph  which  you  have  sent  me,  containing  a 
letter  wholly  new  to  me,2  and  I  look  forward  to  the  hours  when  I  shall 
devour  the  coming  volume,  the  one  of  greatest  interest  to  me,  and  not  one 
least  difficult  to  you. 

I  hope  your  wife  is  in  good  health.  Pray  remember  me  most  affection¬ 
ately  to  her,  and  believe  me 

Ever  faithfully  your  friend, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 


TO  MR.  BANCROFT. 


Boston,  April  3,  1858. 

I  am  truly  obliged  to  you,  my  dear  Bancroft,  for  sending  me  your 
account  of  Bunker  Hill  battle,  in  which  I  am  so  much  interested.2  I 
have  read  it  with  the  greatest  care  and  with  equal  pleasure.  It  was  a  dif¬ 
ficult  story  to  tell,  considering  how  much  it  has  been  disfigured  by  feelings 
of  personal  rivalry  and  foolish  pretension.  In  my  judgment,  you  have 
steered  clear  of  all  these  difficulties,  and  have  told  the  story  in  a  simple 
though  eloquent  style,  that  cannot  fail  to  win  the  confidence  of  your 
reader,  and  satisfy  him  that  you  have  written  with  no  desire  but  to  tell  the 
truth,  after  a  careful  study  of  the  whole  ground. 

For  the  last  thirty  years  or  more  the  friends  and  kinsmen  of  the  promi¬ 
nent  chiefs  in  the  action  have  been  hunting  up  old  Revolutionary  surviv¬ 
ors,  most  of  whom  had  survived  their  own  faculties,  and  extorting  from 
them  such  views  as  could  carry  no  conviction  to  a  candid  mind.  My 

3  A  remarkable  letter  from  Colonel  Prescott,  the  historian’s  grandfather,  to 
the  Committee  of  Safety,  in  Boston,  August,  1774.  See  Bancroft’s  History, 
Vol.  VII.  (1858,)  p.  99.  Mr.  Bancroft  possesses  the  autograph  of  this  vigor¬ 
ous,  patriotic  document. 

s  At  the  end  of  Vol.  VII.  of  Bancroft’s  History,  lf)68,  sent  in  the  proof-sheet 
o  Mr.  Prescott. 


404 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


father  took  no  interest  in  all  this,  and  made  no  effort  to  contradict  the 
accounts  thus  given  from  time  to  time  to  the  public.  He  thought,  as  I 
did,  that  these  random  statements  would  make  no  permanent  impression 
on  the  public  mind.  He  waited  to  see  —  what  I,  more  fortunate  than  he, 
have  now  lived  to  see  —  an  impartial  account  given  of  the  action  by  the 
classical  pen  of  the  historian,  whose  writings  are  destined  not  merely  for 
the  present  age,  but  for  posterity.  While  you  have  done  entire  justice  to 
my  grandfather,  you  have  been  scrupulous  in  giving  due  praise  to  Putnam 
and  Warren,  and  to  the  latter  in  particular  you  have  paid  an  eloquent 
tribute,  well  deserved,  and  in  your  happiest  manner. 

You  are  now  entering  on  the  most  brilliant  and  fascinating  part  of  your 
grand  subject,  and  I  hope  no  political  coquetry  will  have  the  power  to 
entice  you  away  in  another  direction  until  you  have  brought  it  to  a  com¬ 
pletion.  Since  my  apoplectic  thump  I  have  done  nothing  in  the  literary 
way,  giving  my  wits  a  good  chance  to  settle  and  come  into  their  natural 
state  again.  I  am  rather  tired  of  this  kind  of  loafing,  and  am  now 
beginning  to  fall  into  the  old  track,  —  but  with  caution.  As  I  am  on  a 
vegetable  diet,  though  the  doctor  has  allowed  me  to  mend  my  cheer  with 
a  little  wine,  I  may  hope  to  be  armed  against  any  future  attack. 

With  affectionate  remembrances  to  your  wife,  believe  me,  my  dear 
Bancroft, 

Always  faithfully  your  friend, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 


TO  LADY  LYELL. 


Boston,  April  6,  1858. 

My  dear  Ladt  Lyell, 

Susan  wrote  you  last  week  an  account  of  my  apoplectic  troubles,  in 
which  you  take  so  affectionate  an  interest.  The  attack  was  one  wholly 
unexpected  by  me,  for  I  had  nothing  about  me  except  the  headaches  of 
last  year,  which  looked  in  that  direction.  I  am  not  a  plethoric,  red- 
visaged  gentleman,  with  a  short  neck  and  a  portly  paunch  “  with  good 
capon  lined,”  seeming  to  invite  the  attack  of  such  an  enemy.  Nor  am  I 
yet  turned  of  seventy,  much  less  of  eighty,  when  he  takes  advantage  of 
decayed  strength  to  fall  upon  his  superannuated  victim.  But  the  fiend  is 
no  respecter  of  persons  or  ages.  Yet  I  must  acknowledge  he  has  dealt 
rather  kindly  with  me.  The  blow  caused  some  consternation  in  my  little 
circle,  by  sending  my  wits  a  wool-gathering  for  a  few  days.  But  they 
have  gradually  come  to  order  again,  and  the  worst  thing  that  now  remains 
is  the  anchoritish  fare  of  pulse  and  water  on  which  they  have  put  me. 
Probably  owing  to  this  meagre  diet  more  than  to  the  disease,  I  have  been 
somewhat  reduced  in  strength.  But  as  the  doctor  has  now  reinforced  my 
banquet  with  a  couple  of  glasses  of  sherry,  I  look  confidently  to  regain¬ 
ing  my  former  vigor,  and  gradually  resuming  my  historical  labors,  — 
amusements  I  should  say,  for  the  hardest  thing  to  do  is  to  do  nothing. 
We  are  made  hupp}'  now  by  the  return  of  Amory,  who  is  soon  to  be  fol¬ 
lowed  by  William  and  his  family,  who  will  make  one  household  with  us 
this  summer  at  Lynn.  It  is  a  pleasant  reunion  to  look  forward  to  after 
our  long  separation.  .... 


LETTER  TO  LADY  LYELL, 


405 


MEMORANDA. 

April  18th,  1858.. —  More  than  five  months  since  the  last  entry. 
Daring  the  first  three  I  wrote  text  and  notes  of  Book  VI.,  Chapters  I. 
and  II.,  in  all  eighty-five  pages  print.  On  the  4th  of  February  I  had  a 
slight  apoplectic  shock,  which  affected  both  sight  and  power  of  motion, 
the  last  but  for  a  few  moments. 

The  attack  —  so  unexpected,  though  I  had  been  troubled  with  head 
aches  through  the  winter,  in  a  less  degree,  however,  than  in  the  preceding 
year  —  caused  great  alarm  to  my  friends  at  first.  Much  reason  have  I  to 
be  grateful  that  the  effects  have  gradually  disappeared,  and  left  no  traces 
now,  except  a  slight  obscurity  in  the  vision,  and  a  certain  degree  of 
weakness,  which  may  perhaps  be  imputable  to  my  change  of  diet.  For  I 
have  been  obliged  to  exchange  my  carnivorous  propensities  for  those  of  a 
more  innocent  and  primitive  nature,  picking  up  my  fare  as  our  good 
parents  did  before  the  fall.  In  this  way  it  is  thought  I  may  defy  the  foul 
fiend  for  the  future.  But  I  must  not  make  too  heavy  or  long  demands  on 
the  cranium,  and  if  I  can  get  three  or  four  hours’  work  on  my  historic 
ground  in  a  day,  I  must  be  content. 

TO  MR.  PARSONS.4 


Boston,  April  20,  1858. 

Dear  Theofh., 

I  return  you  the  vegetarian  treatise,  with  many  thanks.  It  furnishes  a 
most  important  contribution  to  kitchen  literature.  From  the  long  time  I 
have  kept  it,  you  might  think  I  have  been  copying  the  receipts.  I  marked 
some  for  the  purpose,  but  soon  found  them  so  numerous,  that  I  concluded 
to  send  to  London  for  the  book  itself.  I  shall  receive  a  copy  in  a  few 
days.  I  was  very  sorry  to  hear  that  you  had  wounded  yourself  with  a 
pruning-knife,  and  I  trust  long  before  this  you  have  got  over  the  effects 
of  it.  This  is  an  accident  that  cannot  befall  me.  The  more ’s  the  pity. 
I  wish  with  all  my  heart  I  could  get  up  a  little  horticultural  gusto,  if  it 
were  only  for  multiplying  and  varying  the  pleasures  of  life. 

God  bless  you,  dear  Theoph.  Believe  me,  always  affectionately  yours, 

Wm.  II.  Prescott. 


TO  LADY  LYELL. 


Boston,  May  31,  1858. 

My  dear  Lady  Lyedd, 

It  was  a  loving  remembrance  in  you,  that  of  my  birthday.  It  shows 
you  have  a  good  memory,  at  least  for  your  friends.  Threescore  years  and 
two  is  a  venerable  age,  and  should  lead  one  to  put  his  house  in  order,  es- 

4  This  note  needs  a  little  explanation,  and  I  will  give  it  in  the  words  of  the 
friend  to  whom  it  is  addressed.  He  says:  “  I  had  been  advised  to  eat  mainly 
vegetable  food ;  and,  noticing  among  the  advertisements  of  London  books  one 
of  a  vegetarian  cookery-book,  I  ordered  it;  and,  when  Prescott  told  me  that 
he  was  strictly  limited  to  a  vegetable  diet,  I  sent  it  to  him.” 


406 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


Decially  after  such  a  thump  on  the  cranium  as  I  have  had.  I  hope  I  shall 

i  -r  i  •  w:*-c  Tt  is  a  very  watery  diet  at  any  late,  bcttei 
suited,  T  should  say,  to  moral  philosophy  than  to  carnivorous  history. 
Ferguson,  however,  wrote  both. 

at  the  beginning  of  the  present  month-  dJ  does  honor,  0f 

Stills0  bee n^  too  ^rauded.to  myWaOier,  Colonel  Pres¬ 
cott’s  memory.  The  book  is  ^ntten  with  ^pmt,  Jmt^it  ^  ^ 

not  supported  his  story  )  a  sin®  his  original  materials  are  ample, 

take  it  all  on  the  writer  s  word L  And  yet ih told  nl0  that 

1  f“tPPM  -  y°U„ it"  1  am  fut^r  Sant  must  relish  his  acute  and 

few  readers  will  deny  that  his  big  volume 

is  the  book  of  the  age. 

,  **  ssjs?  tts 

dition  for  a  long  while . 


TO  MADAME  CALDERON. 


Lynn,  September  7,  1868. 

*  >g£  'tfsgjz 

sire,  which  nobody  can  give  but  7°“^"^  ‘  ood  friend  Calderon 

you  are  now  staying,  f  at  else,  letting  the  world 

still  coquetting  with  politics  .  ,  h  ”  t  ap  events,  that  both 

go  by,  like  an  honest  cavalier  as  I  do  ^  I  hop**  ^  ^  ^  ^ 

you  and  he  are  in  good  hea  ,  something  about  all  this  when 

r-F  i  ^ve  been  very  well  of  late,  though. 


LETTER  TO  THE  EARL  OF  CARLISLE. 


4,- 

during  the  last  winter,  in  February,  I  experienced,  what  was  little  ex¬ 
pected,  an  apoplectic  attack.  It  alarmed  my  friends  a  good  deal,  and 
frightened  me  out  of  my  wits  for  a  time.  But  the  effects  have  gradually 
passed  off,  leaving  me  only  a  slight  increase  of  the  obscurity  in  my  vision. 
As  I  don’t  intend  the  foul  fiend  shall  return  again,  I  live  upon  vegetables 
and  farinaceous  matter,  like  the  anchorites  of  old.  For  your  apoplexy 
is  a  dangerous  fellow',  who  lives  upon  good  cheer,  fat  and  red-faced  gentle¬ 
men,  who  feed  upon  something  better  than  beets  and  carrots.  I  don’t 
care  about  the  fare,  but  I  should  be  sorry  not  to  give  the  last  touches  to 
Philip  the  Prudent,  and  to  leave  him  in  the  world  in  a  dismembered  con¬ 
dition  !  I  am  amusing  myself  now  with  putting  through  the  press  the 
third  volume.  This  will  make  three  fifths  of  the  whole  work.  Five 
volumes  are  as  heavy  a  load  as  posterity  will  be  willing  to  take  upon  its 
shoulders ;  and  I  am  ambitious  enough  to  consign  my  wares  to  posterity. 
The  book  will  make  its  appearance  in  December,  and  will  give  you  and 
Calderon  some  winter  evenings’  readings,  if  you  are  not  too  much  ab¬ 
sorbed  in  the  affairs  of  the  public  to  have  time  for  private  matters.  I  am 
just  now  occupied  with  making  some  notes  and  corrections  for  a  new 
edition  of  the  “  Conquest  of  Mexico.”  I  have  particularly  good  materials 
for  this  in  the  two  Mexican  translations  of  it,  one  of  them  having  Ala- 
man’s  notes,  and  the  other  those  of  Ramirez.  I  know  very  little  about 
these  eminent  scholars,  though  I  have  somewhere  a  notice  which  was  sent 
me  of  Alaman,  put  away  so  carefully  and  so  long  ago  that  I  doubt  if  I 
can  lay  my  hands  on  it.  Could  you  not  give  me  some  little  account  of 
these  two  worthies,  —  of  the  offices  they  hold,  their  social  position,  and 
general  estimation  1  Ramirez  somewhere  remarks  that  he  belongs  to  the 
old  Mexican  race.  This  explains  the  difference  of  his  views  on  some 
points  from  Alaman’s,  who  has  a  true  love  for  the  “  Conquistadores.”  On 
the  whole,  it  is  a  trial,  which  few  historians  have  experienced,  to  be  sub¬ 
jected  to  so  severe  a  criticism,  sentence  by  sentence,  of  two  of  the  most 
eminent  scholars  of  their  country.  Though  they  have  picked  many  holes 
m  my  finery,  I  cannot  deny  that  they  have  done  it  in  the  best  spirit  and 
in  the  most  courtly  style,  ..... 

TO  THE  EARL  OF  CARLISLE. 

Boston,  December  27,  18S8. 

My  dear  Carlisle, 

My  eye  was  caught  by  the  sight  of  your  name  this  morning,  as  I  war 
running  over  the  columns  of  my  daily  paper,  and  I  read  an  extract  from 
a.  late  address  of  yours  at  Hull,  not  so  complimentary  as  I  could  have 
wished  to  my  own  country.  The  tone  of  remark,  differing  a  good  deal 
from  the  usual  style  of  your  remarks  on  us,  is,  I  fear,  not  undeserved 
The  more ’s  the  pity.  I  send  you  the  extracts,  for,  as  I  suppose  you  in¬ 
tended  it  for  our  edification  as  well  as  for  your  own  countrymen,  I  thought 
you  might  be  pleased  to  see  that  it  was  quoted  here.  At  any  rate,  I  im¬ 
agine  you  will  be  gratified  with  the  candid  and  liberal  style  in  which  it  is 
received.  The  Boston  “  Daily  Advertiser  ”  is  one  of  onr  most  respectable 
journals,  and  I  may  add  that  the  opinions  expressed  in  it  perfectly  coin¬ 
cide  with  those  of  several  well-informed  persons  who  have  spoken  to  nw 
on  the  matter,  and  for  whose  judgment  you  would  entertain  respect. 


408 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PKESCOTT. 


1  am  not  willing,  any  more  than  the  editor  is,  to  agree  with  7°®  *“ 
vour  desponding  views  as  to  the  destinies  of  our  country,  and  I  should 
mourn  for  my  race  if  I  thought  that  the  grand  experiment  we  are  making 
of  the  capacity  of  men  for  self-government  should  prove  a  failure.  We 
mult  nofbe  too  hastily  judged.  We  are  a  young  people,  and  have  been 
tried  bv  the  severest  of  all  trials,  uninterrupted  prosperity ;  a  harder  trial 
than  adversity  for  a  nation  as  well  as  for  an  individual.  We  have  many 
men  of  high  intelligence  as  well  as  sound  principle  in  the  country  and, 
should  exigencies  arise  to  call  them  into  action,  I  cannot  doubt  that  the 
would  take  the  place  of  the  vaporing  politicians  who  have  been  allowed 
too  much  to  direct  the  affairs  of  the  republic. 

I  have  iust  come  out  with  a  third  volume  of  “  Philip  the  Second,  a 
I  hope  ere  this  you  have  received  a  copy  which  I  directed  my  publisher, 

R\tul?Cn:tnLrdl°enso,  you  will  oblige  me  much  by  advertisng 
me  of  it  as  I  wish  you  to  have  all  my  literary  bantbngs  from  my  own 
hand.  1  have  done  myself  the  pleasure  also  to  send  a  copy  to  theDuc  es 
ami  Ladv  Mary.  I  trust  that  you  and  yours  are  all  in  good  health. 

This  reminds  me  of  a  blank  in  your  circle,  one  dear  and  revered  name, 

-sis: 

them.  My  son  and'  daughter  desire  their  kindest  remembrances  to  y  , 

with  which,  believe  me,  my  dear  friend,  always 
Affectionately  yours, 

Wm  H.  Prescott. 


TO  LADY  LYELL. 

Boston,  January  10, 1859. 

I  SSS,  go  Without  thanking  you  tojto 

SEE#  srasyrJKsi  :  V .  r 

r.  £  zpz  ?' 

wife  a  voyage  to  the  moon  would  not  be  more  chimenca  •  ., 

a  trip  (as  they  pleasantly 

some1' pages" in' it'on  AmS  JTantiqS  which  he  has  not  yet  read  I 
A  all  events  I  hope  we  shall  meet  again  in  this  lower  world, 
suppose.  At  a  -  !  We  sbould  like  to  see  each  other  in 

Such  a  meeting  would  be  only  of  the  voice,  without  even  a  fiien  y  g  P 


LETTER  FROM  LORD  MACAULAY. 


409 


of  the  hand,  to  make  the  heart  beat.  It  would  be  like  a  talk  between 
friends,  after  a  long  absence  on  the  different  sides  of  a  partition  to  divide 
them.  Yet  if  we  don’t  meet  before  long,  I  don’t  know,  but  I  should 
rather  postpone  the  interview  till  we  have  crossed  the  Styx.  But  you,  I 
am  told,  are  reversing  the  order  of  nature.  I  wonder  where  you  got  your 
recipe  for  it.  Yet  the  youth  of  the  body  is,  after  all,  easier  to  preserve 
than  the  youth  of  the  soul.  I  should  like  a  recipe  for  that.  Life  is  so 
stale  when  one  has  been  looking  at  it  for  more  than  sixty  winters  1  It 
would  be  a  miracle  if  the  blood  were  not  a  little  chilled . 


FROM  MR.  IRVING. 

Sunnysidk,  January  12,  1859. 

My  dear  Mr.  Prescott, 

I  cannot  thank  you  enough  for  the  third  volume  of  your  “  Philip,” 
which  you  have  had  the  kindness  to  send  me.  It  came  most  opportunely 
to  occupy  and  interest  me  when  rather  depressed  by  indisposition.  I  have 
read  with  great  interest  your  account  of  the  Rebellion  of  the  Moriscoes, 
which  took  me  among  the  Alpuxarras  mountains,  which  I  once  traversed 
with  great  delight.  It  is  a  sad  story,  the  trampling  down  and  expulsion 
of  that  gallant  race  from  the  land  they  won  so  bravely  and  cultivated  and 
adorned  with  such  industry,  intelligence,  and  good  taste.  You  have  done 
ample  justice  to  your  subject. 

The  battle  of  Lepanto  is  the  splendid  picture  of  your  work,  and  has 
never  been  so  admirably  handled. 

I  congratulate  you  on  the  achievement  of  the  volume,  which  forms  a 
fine  variety  from  the  other  parts  of  your  literary  undertakings. 

Giving  you  my  best  wishes  that  you  may  go  on  and  prosper,  I  remain, 
my  dear  Mr.  Prescott, 

Yours  ever  truly  and  heartily, 

Washington  Irving. 

Wm.  H.  Prescott,  Esq. 

FROM  LORD  MACAULAY.* 

Holly  Lodge,  Kensington,  January  8, 1869. 

My  dear  Sir, 

I  have  already  delayed  too  long  to  thank  you  for  your  third  volume 
It  is  excellent,  and,  I  think,  superior  to  anything  that  you  have  written, 
parts  of  the  “  History  of  the  Conquest  of  Mexico  ”  excepted.  Most  of 
those  good  judges  whose  voices  I  have  been  able  to  collect,  at  this  dead 
time  of  the  year,  agree  with  me.  This  is  the  season  when,  in  this  countrv. 
friends  interchange  good  wishes.  I  do  not  know  whether  that  fashion  has 
crossed  the  Atlantic.  Probably  not,  for  your  Pilgrim  Fathers  held  it  to 
be  a  sin  to  keep  Christmas  and  Twelfth  Day.  I  hope,  however,  that  you 

*  This  letter  Mr.  Prescott  never  had  the  pleasure  of  reading.  It  arrived  > 
few  days  after  his  death. 

18 


410 


WILLIAM  HICK  LING  TRESCOTT. 


will  allow  me  to  express  my  hope  that  the  year  which  is  beginning  may 
he  a  happy  one  to  vou. 

Ever  yours  truly, 

Macaulay. 

Wm.  H.  Prescott,  Esq.,  &c.,  &c. 

TO  SIR  CHARLES  LYELL. 

Boston,  January  23,  1859. 

My  dear  Sir  Charles, 

I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  receiving  your  friendly  letter  of  December 
31st,  and  must  thank  you  for  another,  in  which  you  so  kindly  invited  my 
wife  and  me  to  visit  you  in  England.  Nothing,  you  may  well  believe, 
could  give  her  and  myself  greater  pleasure  than  to  pass  some  time  under 
your  hospitable  roof,  which  would  afford  me  the  inexpressible  satisfaction 
ol  taking  some  friends  again  by  the  hand,  whose  faces  I  would  give  much 
to  sec.  But  I  have  long  since  abandoned  the  thought  of  crossing  the  great 
water,  and  the  friends  on  the  other  side  of  it  are,  I  fear,  henceforth  to  find 
a  place  with  me  only  in  the  pleasures  of  memory.  And  pleasant  recollec¬ 
tions  they  afford  to  fill  many  an  hour  which  the  world  would  call  idle,  for 
there  is  neither  fame  nor  money  to  be  made  out  of  them.  But  one  who 
has  crossed  sixty  (how  near  are  you  to  that  ominous  line?)  will  have 
found  out  that  there  is  something  of  more  worth  than  fame  or  money  in 
this  world.  I  was  last  evening  with  Agassiz,  who  was  in  capital  spirits  at 
the  prospect  of  opening  to  the  public  a  project  of  a  great  museum,  for 
which  Frank  Gray,  as  I  suppose  you  know,  left  an  appropriation  of  fifty 
thousand  dollars.  There  will  be  a  subscription  set  on  foot,  I  understand, 
for  raising  a  similar  sum  to  provide  a  suitable  building  for  the  collection, 
—  a  great  part  of  which  has  already  been  formed  by  Agassiz  himself,  — 
and  the  Governor,  at  a  meeting  of  the  friends  of  the  scheme  held  the 
other  evening  at  James  Lawrence’s,  gave  the  most  cordial  assurances  of 
substantial  aid  from  the  State.  Agassiz  expressed  the  greatest  confidence 
to  me  of  being  able  in  a  few  years  to  establish  an  institution,  which  would 
not  shrink  from  comparison  with  similar  establishments  in  Europe.  He 
has  been  suffering  of  late  from  inflammation  of  the  eyes,  a  trouble  to 
which  he  is  unaccustomed,  but  for  which  he  may  thank  his  own  impru 
dcnce.  I  am  glad  to  learn  that  you  are  pursuing,  with  your  usual  energy, 
your  studies  on  iEtna.  The  subject  is  one  of  the  greatest  interest.  1 
must  congratulate  you  on  the  reception  of  the  Copley  medal.  However 
we  may  despise,  or  affect  to  despise,  the  vulgar  volitare  per  ora,  it  is  a  sat¬ 
isfaction  to  find  one’s  labors  appreciated  by  the  few  who  are  competent  to 
pronounce  on  their  value. 

Good  by,  my  dear  Lvell.  With  kindest  remembrances  to  your  wife, 
believe  me  always  faithfully  yours, 

Wm.  H.  Prescott. 

This  is  the  latest  letter  from  my  friend  that  has  come  to 
my  knowledge.  Notes  he  continued  to  write  afterwards.  I 
received  several  such  down  to  within  two  or  three  days  of  his 


LAST  PLEASURES. 


411 


death,  and  others,  I  doubt  not,  were  sent  to  other  persons  in 
kindness  or  on  business  at  the  same  period.  In  this  and  in  all 
respects,  he  went  on  as  usual.  He  seemed  to  himself  to  grow 
better  and  better,  and  was  even  in  a  condition  to  enjoy  some  of 
the  pleasures  of  society.  We  had  occasionally  dined  at  each 
other’s  houses  from  the  preceding  spring,  as  he  has  noticed  in 
his  letters  to  Lady  Lyell,  already  inserted;  and,  less  than  a 
week  before  his  death,  I  was  to  have  met  a  small  party  of 
friends  at  his  own  table.  But  a  family  affliction  prevented  his 
hospitality,  and  I  was  afterwards  glad,  as  I  well  might  be,  that 
the  dinner  did  not  take  place.  Not  that  he  would  have  failed 
in  abstinence  ;  but  he  was  less  strong  than  he  believed  himself 
to  be,  and  less  than  we  all  hoped  he  was,  so  that  the  fatal  blow 
then  impending  might,  by  the  excitement  of  merely  social  in¬ 
tercourse,  have  fallen  sooner  than  it  otherwise  would,  or,  at 
least,  we  might  afterwards  have  believed  that  it  had. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


1859. 


Anxiety  to  return  to  serious  Work.  —  Pleasant  Forenoon.  —  Sui>- 
den  Attack  of  Apoplexy.  —  Death.  —  His  Wishes  respecting  his 
Remains. —  Funeral.  —  Expressions  of  Sorrow  on  both  sldes  of 
the  Atlantic. 

FROM  day  to  day,  after  New  Year  of  1859,  he  seemed 
more  to  miss  his  old  occupations.  On  the  27th  of  Jan¬ 
uary,  he  talked  decidedly  of  beginning  again  to  work  in  good 
earnest  on  the  “  History  of  Philip  the  Second,”  and  speculated 
on  the  question  whether,  if  he  should  find  his  physical  strength 
unequal  to  the  needful  exertion,  he  might  venture  to  reinforce 
it  by  a  freer  diet.  On  the  following  morning  —  the  fatal  day 
—  he  talked  of  it  again,  as  if  his  mind  were  made  up  to  the 
experiment,  and  as  if  he  were  looking  forward  to  his  task  as  to 
the  opening  again  of  an  old  and  sure  mine  of  content.  His 
sister,  Mrs.  Dexter,  was  happily  in  town  making  him  a  visit, 
and  was  sitting  that  forenoon  with  Mrs.  Prescott  in  a  dressing- 
room,  not  far  from  the  study  where  his  regular  work  was 
always  done.  He  himself,  in  the  early  part  of  the  day,  was 
unoccupied,  walking  about  his  room  for  a  little  exercise ;  the 
weather  being  so  bad  that  none  ventured  out  who  could  well 
avoid  it.  Mr.  Kirk,  his  ever-faithful  secretary,  was  looking 
over  Sala’s  lively  book  about  Russia,  “  A  Journey  due  North.” 
for  his  own  amusement  merely,  but  occasionally  reading  aloud 
to  Mr.  Prescott  such  portions  as  he  thought  peculiarly  interest¬ 
ing  or  pleasant.  On  one  passage,  which  referred  to  a  former 
Minister  of  Russia  at  Washington,  he  paused,  because  neither 
of  them  could  recollect  the  name  of  the  person  alluded  to ;  and 
Mi’.  Prescott,  who  did  not  like  to  find  his  memory  at  fault, 
went  to  his  wife  and  sister  to  see  if  either  of  them  could  recall 
it  for  him.  After  a  moment’s  hesitation,  Mrs.  Prescott  hit 


HIS  DEATH. 


413 


upon  it ;  a  circumstance  which  amused  him  not  a  little,  as  she 
so  rarely  took  an  interest  in  anything  connected  with  public 
affairs,  that  he  had  rather  counted  upon  Mrs.  Dexter  for  the 
information.  He  snapped  his  fingers  at  her,  therefore,  as  he 
turned  away,  and,  with  the  merry  laugh  so  characteristic  of 
his  nature,  passed  out  of  the  room,  saying,  as  he  went,  li  How 
came  you  to  remember  ?  ”  They  were  the  last  words  she  ever 
heard  from  his  loved  lips. 

After  reaching  his  study,  he  stepped  into  an  adjoining  apart¬ 
ment.  While  there,  Mr.  Kirk  heard  him  groan,  and,  hurrying 
to  him,  found  him  struck  with  apoplexy  and  wholly  unconscious. 
This  was  about  half  past  eleven  o’clock  in  the  forenoon.  He 
was  instantly  earned  to  his  chamber.  In  the  shortest  possible 
space  of  time,  several  medical  attendants  were  at  his  bedside, 
and  among  them  —  and  the  chief  of  them  —  was  his  old  friend 
and  his  father’s  friend,  Dr.  Jackson.  One  of  their  number, 
Dr.  Minot,  brought  me  the  sad  intelligence,  adding  his  own 
auguries,  which  were  of  the  worst.  I  hastened  to  the  house. 
What  grief  and  dismay  I  found  there,  needs  not  to  be  told. 
All  saw  that  the  inevitable  hour  was  come.  Remedies  availed 
nothing.  He  never  spoke  again,  never  recovered  an  instant 
of  consciousness,  and  at  half  past  two  o’clock  life  passed  away 
without  suffering. 

He  would  himself  have  preferred  such  a  death,  if  choice  had 
been  permitted  to  him.  He  had  often  said  so  to  me  and  to 
others ;  and  none  will  gainsay,  that  it  was  a  great  happiness 
thus  to  die,  surrounded  by  all  those  nearest  and  dearest  to  him, 
except  one  much-loved  son,  who  was  at  a  distance,  and  to  die, 
too,  with  unimpaired  faculties,  and  with  affections  not  only  as 
fresh  and  true  as  they  had  ever  been,  but  which,  in  his  own 
home  and  in  the  innermost  circle  of  his  friends,  had  seemed  to 
grow  stronger  and  more  tender  to  the  last. 

Four  days  afterwards  he  was  buried;  two  wishes,  however, 
having  first  been  fulfilled,  as  he  had  earnestly  desired  that  they 
should  be.  They  related  wholly  to  himself,  and  were  as  simple 
and  unpretending  as  he  was. 

From  accidental  circumstances,  he  had  always  entertained  a 
peculiar  dread  of  being  buried  alive ;  and  he  had,  therefore, 
often  required  that  measures  should  be  taken  to  prevent  all 


414 


WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT. 


possibility  of  the  horrors  that  might  follow  such  an  occurrence, 
injunctions  wore  obeyed.  Of  hi,  absolute  death  rt  was 
indeed,  permitted  to  doubt.  It  had  occurred  under  cir¬ 
cumstances  which  had  been  distinctly  foreseen  and  by  a  blow 
Ty  too  obvious,  sure,  and  terrible.  But  stdl,  as  had  been 
promised  to  him,  a  principal  vein  was  severed,  so  that,  if 
should  again  be  awakened,  it  might  ebb  silently  away  with 

tuiv  nossible  return  of  consciousness. 

His  other  request  was  no  less  natural  and  characteristic. 

He  desired  that  his  remains,  before  they  should  be  deposite 
in  the  house  appointed  for  all  living,  might  rest,  for  a  time,  in 
the  cherished  room  where  were  gathered  the  intellectual  ti  eas¬ 
es  amidst  which  he  had  found  so  much  of  the  happiness  of 
Ids  life.  And  tliis  wish,  too,  was  fulfilled.  Silently,  noiseless- 
lv  he  was  carried  there.  Few  witnessed  the  solemn  scene,  bu 
on  those  who  did,  it  made  an  impression  not  to  be  forgotten. 
Thl  he  lay,  in  that  rich,  fair  room,  -  his  manly  form  neither 
shrunk  nor  wasted  by  disease ;  the  features  that  had  expressed 
and  inspired  so  much  love  still  hardly  touched  by  the  effacing 
‘turners  of  death,  — there  he  lay,  in  unmoved,  inaccessible  peace , 
and  the  lettered  dead  of  all  ages  and  climes  and  countries  coi¬ 
ned  there  seemed  to  look  down  upon  him  in  their  earth  y 
andpasshmless  immortality,  and  claim  that  Ins  name  should 
hereafter  be  imperishably  associated  with  tliens. 

Bu,  ,bi,  was  only  for  a  season.  A,  the  appointed  hour- 
his  am  y,  and  none  else,  following -be  was  borne  to  th 
Church'1  vriiere  he  was  wont  to  worship.  No  ceremonies  had 
been  arranged  for  the  occasion.  There  had  been  no  invita- 
r„.  There  was  no  show.  But  the  church  was  fu ,  was 
crowded  The  Representatives  of  the  Commonwealth,  then  m 

had  adjourned  so  as  be  present;  J  e  "embers £ 
Historical  Society,  whose  honored  wish  to  take  othuai  cm  0 
of  the  duties  of  the  occasion  had  been  declined,  were  there  as 
mo,™  7  The  whole  community  was  moved ;  the .poor whom 

me,  whose  — 

gSsuT.  ~  never  before  witnessed  in  this  land  fo, 


HIS  FUNERAL. 


416 


the  obsequies  of  any  man  of  letters  wholly  unconnected,  as  he 
had  been,  with  public  affairs  and  the  parties  or  passions  of  the 
time ;  —  one  who  was  known  to  most  of  the  crowd  collected 
around  his  bier  only  by  tlie  silent  teachings  of  his  printed 
works.  For,  of  the  multitude  assembled,  few  could  have 
known  him  personally ;  many  of  them  had  never  seen  him. 
But  all  came  to  mourn.  All  felt  that  an  honor  had  been 
taken  from  the  community  and  the  country.  They  came  be¬ 
cause  they  felt  the  loss  they  had  sustained,  and  only  for  that. 
And  after  the  simple  and  solemn  religious  rites  befitting  the 
occasion  had  been  performed,1  they  still  crowded  round  the 
funeral  train  and  through  the  streets,  following,  with  sadness 
and  awe,  the  hearse  that  was  bearing  from  their  sight  all  that 
remained  of  one  who  had  been  watched  not  a  week  before  as 
he  trod  the  same  streets  in  apparent  happiness  and  health.  It 
was  a  grand  and  touching  tribute  to  intellectual  eminence  and 
personal  worth. 

He  was  buried  with  his  father  and  mother,  and  with  the 
little  daughter  he  had  so  tenderly  loved,  in  the  family  tomb 
under  St.  Paul’s  Church ;  and,  as  he  was  laid  down  beside 
them,  the  audible  sobs  of  the  friends  who  filled  that  gloomy 
crypt  bore  witness  to  their  love  for  his  generous  and  sweet 
nature,  even  more  than  to  their  admiration  for  his  literary 
distinctions,  or  to  their  sense  of  the  honor  he  had  conferred 
on  his  country. 

Other  expressions  of  the  general  feeling  followed.  The 
Massachusetts  Historical  Society ;  the  Historical  Societies  of 
New  York,  of  Pennsylvania,  of  Maryland,  and  of  Illinois ; 
the  American  Academy  of  Arts  and  Sciences ;  the  American 
Antiquarian  Society ;  the  New  England  Genealogical  Society ; 
the  Essex  Institute,  meeting  on  the  spot  where  he  was  bom ; 
and  the  Boston  Athenaeum  and  Harvard  College,  with  which, 
from  his  youth,  he  had  been  much  connected,  —  each  bore 
its  especial  and  appropriate  part  in  the  common  mourning. 
The  multitudinous  periodicals  and  newspapers  of  the  country 
were  filled  with  it,  and  the  same  tone  was  soon  afterwards 
heard  from  no  small  portion  of  what  is  most  eminent  for 

1  By  Mr.  Prescott’s  clergyman,  the  Rev.  Rufus  Ellis,  pastor  of  the  First 
Congregational  Church  in  Boston. 


WILLIAM  HICIvLlNG  PRESCOTT. 


4  If. 

— - i— :  : 

either  side  of  the  bSn^d  blneficent  Ught 

loss  had  been  sustained ;  that  a  Drunani 

had  been  extinguished. 


APPENDIX. 


6  A 


18* 


APPENDIX  A. 


THE  PRESCOTT  FAMILY. 


(See  p.  1.) 


f  HE  Prescott  family  belong  to  the  original  Puritan  stock  and  blood 


a  of  New  England.  They  came  from  Lancashire,  and  about  1640, 
twenty  years  only  after  the  first  settlement  at  Plymouth  and  ten  years  after 
that  of  Boston,  were  established  in  Middlesex  County,  Massachusetts, 
where  not  a  few  of  the  honored  race  still  remain. 

Like  most  of  the  earlier  emigrants,  who  left  their  native  homes  from 
conscientious  motives,  they  were  men  of  strongly  marked  characters,  but 
of  small  estates,  and  devoted  to  mechanical  and  agricultural  pursuits,  — 
circumstances  which  fitted  them  as  nothing  else  could  so  well  have  done 
for  the  trials  and  labors  incident  to  their  settlement  in  this  Western  wilder¬ 
ness.  But,  even  among  men  like  these,  the  Prescotts  were  distinguished 
from  the  first.  They  enjoyed,  to  an  uncommon  degree,  the  respect  of  the 
community  which  they  helped  to  found,  and  became  at  once  more  or  less 
concerned  in  the  management  of  the  entire  Colony  of  Massachusetts,  when 
those  who  took  part  in  its  affairs  bore  heavy  burdens  and  led  anxious 
lives. 

John,  the  first  emigrant,  was  a  large,  able-bodied  man,  who,  after  living 
some  time  in  Watertown,  established  himself  in  Lancaster,  then  on  the 
frontiers  of  civilization.  There  he  acquired  a  good  estate  and  defended  it 
bravely  from  the  incursions  of  the  Indians,  to  whom  he  made  himself 
formidable  by  occasionally  appearing  before  them  in  a  helmet  and  cuirass, 
which  he  had  brought  with  him  from  England,  where  he  was  said  to  have 
served  under  Cromwell.  His  death  is  placed  in  1683. 

Of  him  are  recorded  by  Mr.  William  Prescott,  father  of  the  historian, 
the  following  traditionary  anecdotes,  —  given  him  by  Dr.  Oliver  Prescott, 
—  which  may  serve,  at  least,  to  mark  the  condition  of  the  times  when  he 
lived. 

“  He  brought  over,”  says  Mr.  Prescott,  “  a  coat  of  mail-armor  and 
habiliments,  such  as  were  used  by  field-officers  of  that  time.  An  aged 
lady  informed  Mr.  Oliver  Prescott1  that  she  had  seen  him  dressed  in  this 
armor.  Lancaster  (where  Mr.  Prescott  established  himself)  was  a  frontier 
town,  much  exposed  to  the  incursions  of  the  Indians.  John  was  a  sturdy, 
strong  man,  with  a  stem  countenance,  and,  whenever  he  had  a  difficulty 
with  the  Indians,  clothed  himself  with  his  coat  of  armor,  —  helmet,  cuirass, 
and  gorget,  —  which  gave  him  a  fierce  and  frightful  appearance.  It  is 


1  Born  in  1731,  and  died  in  1804. 


420 


APPENDIX. 


related,  that  when,  on  one  occasion,  they  stole  a  valuable  horse  from  him, 
he  put  on  his  armor  and  pursued  them,  and  after  some  time  overtook  the 
party  that  had  his  horse.  They  were  surprised  to  see  him  alone,  and  one 
of  the  chiefs  approached  him  witli  his  tomahawk  uplifted.  John  told  him 
to  strike,  which  he  did,  and,  finding  the  blow  made  no  impression  on  his 
cap,  he  was  astonished,  and  asked  John  to  let  him  put  it  on,  and  then  to 
strike  on  his  head,  as  he  had  done  on  John’s.  The  helmet  was  too  small 
for  the  Indian’s  head,  and  the  weight  of  the  blow  settled  it  down  to  his 
ears,  scraping  off  the  skin  on  both  sides.  They  gave  him  his  horse,  and 
let  him  go,  thinking  him  a  supernatural  being. 

“  At  another  time  the  Indians  set  fire  to  his  barn.  Old  John  put  on 
his  armor  and  rushed  out  upon  them.  They  retreated  before  him,  and  he 
let  his  horses  and  cattle  out  of  the  burning  stable.  At  another  time  they 
set  fire  to  his  saw-mill.  The  old  man  armed  cap-'a-pied,  went  out,  drove 
them  off,  and  extinguished  the  fire.” 

Jonas,  a  son  of  the  first  emigrant,  was  born  in  1648,  and  died  in  1723, 
seventy-five  years  old.  He  lived  in  Groton.  He  was  a  captain  of  the 
yeomanry  militia,  at  a  time  when  the  neighborhood  of  the  savages  made 
such  a  post  important  to  the  safety  of  the  country  ;  and  he  was  a  justice 
of  the  peace  when  that  office,  also,  implied  a  degree  of  consideration  and 
authority  now  unknown  to  it. 

Benjamin,  one  of  the  sons  of  Jonas,  was  born  January  4,  1695-6.  He 
represented  his  native  town  many  years  in  the  General  Court  of  the  Colony, 
was  a  colonel  in  the  militia  of  his  own  county,  and  of  the  adjoining 
county  of  Worcester,  and  in  the  year  before  his  death,  which  occurred  in 
1738,  was  delegated  to  the  important  service  of  defending  the  territorial 
rights  of  Massachusetts  against  the  claims  of  New  Hampshire,  before  a 
royal  commission  appointed  to  adjudge  the  case.2 

Benjamin  had  three  sons,  each  of  whom  distinguished  himself  in  the 
line  of  life  he  had  chosen. 

The  eldest,  James,  remained  on  the  family  estate  at  home,  and  culti¬ 
vated  and  managed  it.  He  passed  through  all  the  degrees  of  military  rank, 
from  that  of  an  ensign  to  that  of  colonel.  He  represented  Groton,  for  a 
long  period,  in  the  General  Court,  and  was  afterwards  in  the  Colonial 
Governor’s  Council.  At  the  outbreak  of  the  Bevolution,  taking  the  popu¬ 
lar  side,  he  became  a  member  of  the  Provincial  Congress  and  of  the  Board 
of  War,  and,  after  the  peace  of  1783,  was  successively  sheriff  of  the  county 
and  Judge  of  the  Court  of  Common  Pleas.  He  died,  more  than  seventy- 
nine  years  old,  in  1800,  at  Groton,  where  the  family  had  then  been  settled 
above  a  century. 

Oliver,  the  youngest  son  of  Benjamin,  was  bom  in  1731.  He  was  grad¬ 
uated  at  Harvard  College  in  1750,  and  became  subsequently  an  eminent 
physician  in  Groton  and  its  neighborhood.  But,  like  others  of  his  family, 
he  turned  to  public  affairs,  both  military  and  civil.  In  1777,  and  for  sev¬ 
eral  years  afterwards,  he  was  of  the  Governor’s  Council,  and  in  1778  he 
became  one  of  the  major-generals  in  the  service  of  the  Commonwealth.  A 

*  This  has  sometimes  been  otherwise  stated,  but  the  record  leaves  no  doubt 
upon  the  matter.  See  Journal  of  the  House  of  Represer  tatives,  August  12th, 
ani  October  13th,  1737. 


THE  PRESCOTT  FAMILY. 


421 


severe  illness  in  1781  somewhat  impaired  his  activity,  and  the  same  year 
he  was  appointed  Judge  of  Probate  for  his  native  county  of  Middlesex,  an 
office  which  he  held,  to  the  great  acceptance  of  all,  till  his  death.  He, 
however,  never  ceased  to  be  interested  in  his  original  profession,  and,  be¬ 
sides  other  marks  of  distinction  for  his  medical  knowledge,  he  received  in 
1791  the  degree  of  Doctor  in  Medicine,  honoris  causa,  from  Harvard  Col¬ 
lege.  He  died  in  1804,  leaving  several  sons,  the  eldest  of  whom,  Oliver, 
delivered  an  address  before  the  Massachusetts  Medical  Society  in  1813,  on 
the  Secale  cornutum  or  ergot,  which  was  found  so  important  in  relation  to 
the  use  of  that  remedy,  that,  besides  being  reprinted  in  this  country  and  in 
London,  it  was  ttanslated  into  French  and  German,  and  inserted  in  the 
thirteenth  volume  of  the  Dictionnaire  des  Sciences  Me'dicales.  He  died  at 
Newburyport  in  1827. 

William,  the  second  son  of  Benjamin,  and  grandfather  of  the  historian, 
was  of  a  more  bold  and  enterprising  nature  than  his  brother  James,  and 
has  left  a  name  which  will  not  be  forgotten.  He  was  born  in  Groton  on 
the  20th  of  February,  1726;  but,  in  a  spirit  of  adventure  common  through¬ 
out  New  England  at  that  period,  and  not  yet  unknown,  he  preferred  to 
remove  farther  into  the  land  and  establish  himself  in  the  primeval  forest. 
This  he  did,  before  he  was  of  age.  But  it  was  not  necessary  for  him  to 
go  far.  He  removed  only  a  few  miles,  and  afterwards,  when  he  had  served 
as  a  soldier,  caused  the  land  on  a  part  of  which  he  had  settled  to  be  made 
a  township,  naming  it  after  Sir  William  Peppered,  who  had  just  then  so 
much  distinguished  himself  by  the  capture  of  Louisbourg.  Pepperell  is  in 
the  upper  part  of  the  county  of  Middlesex,  just  on  the  line  of  the  State, 
and  next  to  the  town  of  Hollis,  which  is  in  New  Hampshire.  There,  not 
above  a  mile  from  the  border,  he  always  lived,  —  or  at  least  he  always  had 
his  only  home  there,  —  holding  his  estate,  as  his  great-grandson  continues 
to  hold  it  still  in  1862,  under  the  original  Indian  title.  The  Indians,  in¬ 
deed,  long  continued  to  be  his  near  neighbors  ;  so  near,  that  there  were 
periods  of  anxiety,  during  which  those  who  went  to  the  field  with  the 
plough  did  not  feel  safe  unless  their  rifles  stood  leaning  against  the  neigh¬ 
boring  trees. 

This  was  a  rude  training,  no  doubt ;  and  living,  as  he  did,  among  the 
savages,  an  unmarried  man,  it  seems  early  to  have  given  him  soldierlike 
habits  and  tastes.  At  any  rate,  when  he  was  twenty-seven  years  old,  he 
was  a  lieutenant  in  the  militia,  and  at  twenty-nine,  in  the  true  spirit  of  ad¬ 
venture,  entered,  with  the  same  rank,  the  regular  service  in  the  Colonial 
troops  sent  to  remove  the  French  irom  Nova  Scotia.  This  was  in  1755. 
But  the  service  was  a  short,  and  not  an  agreeable  one.  On  his  return 
home,  therefore,  he  left  the  army,  and  married  Abigail  Hale,  a  descendant, 
like  himself,  of  the  original  Puritan  stock  of  the  country.  It  was  a  for¬ 
tunate  connection  for  the  young  soldier,  who  now  seemed  to  have  settled 
down  on  his  farm  for  a  peaceful  and  happy  life,  retaining  only  so  much 
of  his  military  tastes  as  was  implied  by  accepting  the  command  of  the 
yeomanry  of  his  neighborhood. 

But  troublesome  times  soon  followed,  and  a  spirit  like  his  was  sure  ta 
be  stirred  by  them.  This  he  early  permitted  to  be  seen  and  known.  In 
August,  1774,  he  counselled  his  assembled  townsmen  to  stand  by  the  men 
of  Boston  in  their  resistance  to  the  unjust  and  unconstitutional  claims  of 


422 


APPENDIX. 


the  royal  authority,  and  embodied  their  thoughts  and  purposes  In  a  fervent 
letter  which  is  still  extant.  “  lie  not  dismayed,”  he  said,  “  nor  disheartened 
in  this  day  of  great  trials.  We  heartily  sympathize  with  you,  and  are 
always  ready  to  do  all  in  our  power  for  your  support,  comfort,  and  relief, 
knowing  that  Providence  has  placed  you  where  you  must  stand  the  first 
shock.  We  consider,  we  are  all  embarked  in  one  bottom,  and  must  sink 
or  swim  together.”3  Soon  afterwards,  in  1775,  being  recognized  as  a 
good  soldier,  who  in  Nova  Scotia  had  become  familiar  with  the  discipline 
of  a  camp,  and  being,  besides,  no  less  known  for  his  political  firmness,  he 
was  made  colonel  of  a  regiment  of  minute-men,  who,  as  their  name  im¬ 
plies,  were  to  be  ready  at  a  moment’s  warning  for  any  revolutionary 
emergency.  It  was  a  duty  he  loved,  and  it  was  not  long  before  his 
courage  and  firmness  were  put  to  the  test.4 

On  the  19th  of  April,  1775,  within  an  hour  after  the  news  reached  him 
of  the  skirmishes  at  Lexington  and  Concord,  he  hurried  to  Groton,  and, 
collecting  as  many  of  his  men  as  he  could  muster,  and  leaving  orders  for 
the  rest  to  follow,  marched  to  Cambridge,  hoping  to  overtake  the  British 
troops,  then  in  full  retreat  towards  Boston.  This,  however,  was  impossi¬ 
ble.  But  a  force,  full  of  the  active  and  devoted  spirit  of  the  time,  was 
rapidly  collected  at  Cambridge,  under  the  command  of  General  Artemas 
Ward.  By  his  orders,  Colonel  Prescott  was  despatched  on  the  evening 
of  June  the  16th,  with  about  a  thousand  men,  to  Charlestown,  where,  in 
the  course  of  the  night,  he  threw  up  a  redoubt  on  Bunker's  Hill,  — or  to 
speak  more  accurately  on  Breed’s  Hill,  —  and  fought  there,  the  next  day, 
the  first  real  battle  of  the  Involution,  manfully  putting  in  peril  that  reputa¬ 
tion,  which,  to  a  soldier,  is  dearer  than  life,  and  which,  if  the  cause  he 
then  espoused  had  failed,  would  have  left  his  own  name  and  that  of  his 
descendants  blackened  with  the  charge  of  rebellion.  But  things  did  not 

3  Bancroft’s  “  History  of  the  United  States,”  Vol.  VII.  (Boston  1858),  p.  99. 
This  is  the  document  already  alluded  to,  {ante,  p.  403,  note,)  as  sent  by  Mr. 
Bancroft  to  Mr.  Prescott  the  historian. 

4  Two  circumstances  in  relation  to  this  commission  are  worth  notice.  The 
first  is,  that,  with  a  disregard  to  exactness  not  uncommon  in  times  of  great 
peril,  the  month  and  day  of  the  month  when  the  commission  was  issued  are 
not  given.  The  other  is,  that  the  President  of  “the  Congress  of  the  Colony 
of  the  Massachusetts  Bay  ”  who  signed  it  is  General  Joseph  Warren,  who  fell 
a  few  days  later  on  Bunker  Hill;  and  the  justice  of  the  peace  before  whom, 
on  the  26th  of  May,  1775,  Colonel  Prescott  took  the  oath  of  allegiance,  was 
Samuel  Dexter,  one  of  the  leading  men  of  the  Colon}’,  —  the  grandfather  of 
Mr.  Franklin  Dexter,  who,  nearly  half  a  century  later,  married  a  grand¬ 
daughter  of  the  same  Colonel  Prescott,  —  a  man  of  severe  integrity,  and  of 
an  original,  strong,  uncompromising  character,  who,  during  the  short  period 
in  which  his  health  allowed  him  to  occupy  himself  with  political  affairs,  ex 
ercised  no  small  influence  in  the  troubled  commonwealth.  A  notice  of  him, 
by  his  son,  the  eminent  lawyer,  who  died  in  1816,  may  be  found  in  the 
“  Monthly  Anthology  ”  for  1810.  Mr.  Dexter,  the  elder,  was  the  founder  of 
the  Dexter  Lectureship  of  Biblical  Literature  in  Harvard  College.  At  the 
time  when  he  signed  the  commission  of  Colonel  Prescott,  he  was  a  member 
of  the  Provincial  Congress.  Colonel  Prescott,  it  should  be  noted,  served  as 
colonel  before  he  took  the  oath,  namely,  as  early  as  the  month  ot  April 


THE  PRESCOTT  FAMILY. 


423 


jo  turn  out.  He  was,  indeed,  defeated,  —  mainly  for  want  of  ammu 
nition,  —  and  driven  from  the  hill,  which  he  was  among  the  last  to  leave. 
A  brave  resistance,  however,  had  been  made,  and  the  defeat  had  many  of 
the  results  of  a  victory.  When  Washington  heard  of  it,  he  exclaimed, 
“  The  liberties  of  the  country  are  safe”;  6 7  and  Franklin  wrote,  “  England 
has  lost  her  Colonies  forever.”  6 

Colonel  Prescott  continued  in  the  army  until  the  end  of  1776/  when,  on 
the  retirement  of  the  American  troops  from  Long  Island,  the  excellent  man¬ 
ner  in  which  he  brought  oft'  his  regiment  was  publicly  commended  by  Gen¬ 
eral  Washington.  But  from  this  period  until  his  death,  except  during  the 
autumn  of  1777,  when,  as  a  volunteer  with  a  few  of  his  former  brother-offi¬ 
cers,  lie  assisted  in  the  capture  of  Burgoyne  at  Saratoga,  he  resided  on  his 
farm  in  Pcpperell.  He  did  not,  however,  withdraw  himself  entirely  from 
public  affairs.  He  served  as  a  Representative  in  the  Legislature  of  Massa¬ 
chusetts,  and  when  the  formidable  insurrection  known  as  “  Slrays’s  Rebel¬ 
lion”  broke  out  in  his  own  county  of  Middlesex,  he  hastened  to  Concord 
and  assisted  in  protecting  the  courts  of  justice,  and  in  preserving  law  and 
order.  He  died  on  the  13th  of  October,  1795,  and  was  buried  with  the. 
military  honors  becoming  his  life  and  character.  His  widow,  an  admirable 
person,  full  of  gentleness  and  dignity,  survived  him  many  years,  and  died 
in  1821,  at  the  advanced  age  of  eighty-eight. 

They  had  but  one  child,  William,  who  was  bom  on  his  father’s  farm, 
August  the  19th,  1762,  and  lived  there,  in  great  simplicity,  until  1776. 
His  early  education  was  entirely  due  to  his  mother,  for  whom  be  always 
felt  a  deep  reverence,  and  of  whom,  late  in  his  own  life,  he  said :  “  She 
was  more  remarkable,  than  any  one  I  have  ever  known,  for  her  power  of 
governing  children  and  young  people,  and  that  without  any  austerity  in 
her  manner.  They  all  respected,  loved,  and  obeyed  her.  Her  kindness 
won  their  hearts.  I  feel  that  I  am  indebted  to  her  wise  and  affectionate 
government  and  guidance  of  my  childhood  and  youth,  —  her  daily  coun¬ 
sels  and  instructions,  —  for  whatever  character  and  success  I  may  have 
had  in  life.”  Considering  what  Mr.  Prescott  had  become  when  he  wroto 
these  words,  a  more  beautiful  tribute  could  hardly  have  been  paid  to 
womanly  tenderness  and  wisdom. 

But,  at  the  age  of  fourteen,  he  was  placed  under  the  instruction  of 
“Master  Moody,”  of  Dummer  Academy,  in  Essex  County,  then  known 
as  the  best  teacher  of  Latin  and  Greek  in  New  England,  and  —  what  was 
of  no  less  consequence  to  his  pupils  —  wholly  devoted  to  his  duties,  which 
he  loved  passionately.  Nearly  three  years  of  careful  training  under  such 
an  instructor  almost  changed  the  boy  to  a  man,  and  four  years  more  at 
Harvard  College,  where  he  was  graduated  in  1783,  completed  the  trans¬ 
formation. 

But  as  he  approached  manhood,  he  felt  the  responsibilities  of  life 

6  Irving’s  “  Life  of  Washington”  (1855).  Vol.  I.  p.  488 

*  The  last  words  of  Vol.  VII.  of  Bancroft’s  “  History  of  the  United  States  ” 
(1858). 

7  His  commission  in  the  army  of  “  The  United  Colonies,”  signed  by  John 
Hancock,  President,  and  Charles  Thomson,  Secretary,  is  dated  January  1, 
1776,  and  constitutes  him  Colonel  of  the  “  Seventh  Regiment  of  Foot.” 


424 


APPENDIX. 


already  crowding  upon  liim.  The  first  of  these,  and  probably  the  one  that 
pressed  heaviest  upon  his  thoughts,  was  the  idea  that,  for  the  seven  preced¬ 
ing  years,  he  had  been  a  burden  upon  the  small  means  of  his  father,  when 
he  might  rather  have  been  a  relief.  This  state  of  things  he  determined  at 
once  should  no  longer  continue,  and,  from  that  moment,  he  never  received 
any  pecuniary  assistance  from  his  family.  On  the  contrary,  after  the 
death  of  his  father,  whose  life,  like  that  of  most  military  men  «f  his  time, 
had  been  one  of  generous  hospitality,  rather  than  of  thrift,  he  assumed 
the  debts  with  which  the  estate  had  become  encumbered,  and,  for  above  a 
quarter  of  a  century,  made  the  most  ample  and  affectionate  arrangements 
for  the  support  of  his  much-loved  mother,  who  thus  died  in  peace  and  hap¬ 
piness  on  the  spot  whese  she  had  lived  above  sixty  years. 

His  earliest  resource,  when  he  began  the  world  for  himself,  was  one 
then  common  among  us,  and  still  not  very  rare,  for  young  men  who  have 
left  college  without  the  means  necessary  to  continue  their  education 
further.  He  became  a  teacher.  At  first,  it  was  for  a  few  months  only,  in 
Brooklyn,  Connecticut ;  but  afterwards  for  two  years  in  Beverly,  Massa¬ 
chusetts.  Here  he  lived  very  happily  in  a  cultivated  society,  and  here  he 
studied  his  profession  under  Mr.  Dane,  a  learned  jurist  and  statesman 
who  afterwards  founded  the  Law  Professorship  in  Harvard  College  that 
bears  his  name.  During  this  period  Mr.  Prescott  received  an  invitation 
to  become  a  member  of  General  Washington’s  household,  where,  while 
pursuing  his  legal  studies,  he  would  have  acted  as  the  private  tutor  of  a 
youthful  member  of  the  family,  to  whom  its  great  head  was  much 
attached.  But  the  young  law-student  declined  the  offer,  in  consequence 
of  his  previous  engagements,  and  his  college  classmate,  Lear,  took  the 
coveted  place. 

Mr.  Prescott  began  the  practice  of  his  profession  in  Beverly ;  but,  at 
the  end  of  two  years,  in  1789,  finding  the  field  there  not  wide  enough  for 
his  purposes,  he  removed  to  the  adjacent  town  of  Salem,  the  shire  town 
of  the  county,  and  the  seat  of  much  prosperous  activity.  His  success, 
from  the  first,  was  marked  and  honorable,  and  it  continued  such  so  long 
as  he  remained  there.  During  a  part  of  the  time,  he  entered  a  little,  but 
only  a  little,  into  political  life,  serving  successively  as  a  Representative  of 
Salem  and  as  a  Senator  for  the  county  of  Essex  in  the  Legislature  of  the 
State.  But,  although  he  took  no  selfish  interest  in  the  success  of  any 
party,  he  maintained  then,  as  he  did  till  Iris  death,  the  opinions  of  the 
Federalists,  who  received  their  name  from  an  early  and  faithful  support 
of  the  Federal  Constitution,  and  who  subsequently  devoted  themselves  to 
sustaining  the  policy  and  measures  of  Washington  during  his  civil  admin¬ 
istration  of  the  affairs  of  the  country.  In  truth,  however,  while  Mr. 
Prescott  lived  in  Salem,  he  gave  himself  up  almost  exclusively  to  his 
profession,  in  which  his  talents,  his  integrity,  and  his  industry  gained  for 
him  so  high  a  rank,  that,  as  early  as  1 806,  he  was  offered  a  seat  on  the 
bench  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  Commonwealth ;  an  offer  repeated 
with  much  urgency  in  1813,  but  one  which,  on  both  occasions,  he  de¬ 
clined,  partly  from  the  state  of  his  family,  but  chiefly  from  considerations 
connected  with  his  health.  His  refusal  occasioned  no  little  regret ;  for  it 
was  a  place  to  which  he  was  admirably  adapted  by  the  judicial  character 
of  his  mind,  by  his  moral  courage,  and  by  a  singular  power  he  had  of 


THE  PRESCOTT  FAMILY. 


425 


holding  any  subject  under  advisement  until  the  last  moment,  and  then 
deciding  it  as  promptly  and  firmly  as  if  he  had  never  hesitated. 

But  from  1803,  when  he  ruptured  a  blood-vessel  in  liis  lungs,  and  was 
compelled,  in  consequence,  to  give  up  all  severe  occupation  for  many 
months  he  was  never  an  active  or  vigorous  man.  To  relieve  himself, 
therefore,  from  a  kind  of  business  which  was  quite  as  onerous  as  it  was 
profitable,  and  which  made  his  life  in  Salem  more  burdensome  than  ho 
could  well  bear,  he  determined,  in  1808,  to  remove  to  Boston.  He  did 
so,  however,  with  reluctance.  He  had  many  kind  friends  in  Salem,  to 
whom  he  and  his  family  were  sincerely  attached.  He  had  passed  there 
nineteen  years  of  great  professional  usefulness,  enjoying  the  respect  of  a 
very  intelligent  and  thriving  community.  He  had  been  happ^  much 
beyond  the  common  lot,  and  he  was  by  no  means  without  misgit  |igs  at 
the  thought  of  a  change  so  important  and  decisive. 

His  removal,  however,  proved  fortunate  beyond  his  hopes.  His  pro¬ 
fessional  business  in  Boston,  while  it  was  less  oppressive  than  his  business 
in  Salem  had  been,  insured  him  immediately  an  increased  and  ample 
income.  Into  public  affairs  he  entered  little,  and  only  so  far  as  his  duty 
plainly  required  ;  for  political  life  was  never  agreeable  to  him,  and,  besides 
this,  it  interfered  with  his  professional  labors  and  the  domestic  repose  he 
always  loved  and  needed.  But  from  1809  he  served  for  a  few  years  in 
the  Council  of  the  Commonwealth,  under  Governor  Gore  and  Governor 
Strong,  and  enjoyed  all  the  confidence  of  those  eminent  and  faithful  mag¬ 
istrates,  as  they  enjoyed  all  his.  In  1814  he  was  elected,  by  the  Legisla¬ 
ture  of  Massachusetts,  to  be  one  of  the  delegates  to  the  Convention 
which,  in  that  year,  met  at  Hartford,  in  Connecticut,  to  consider  the  con¬ 
dition  of  the  New  England  States,  exposed  and  neglected  as  they  were 
by  the  general  government,  during  the  war  then  carrying  on  against 
Great  Britain.  It  was  inconvenient  and  disagreeable  to  him  to  accept 
the  office.  But  he  had  no  doubt  that  he  ought  to  do  it.  Nor  did  he  ever 
afterwards  regret  it,  or  fail  to  do  justice  to  the  honorable  and  high-miuded 
men  who  were  associated  with  him  in  its  duties. 

He  went  to  that  remarkable  Convention,  fearing,  unquestionably,  from 
the  great  excitement  which  then  prevailed  throughout  New  England  on 
the  subject  of  the  war,  that  rash  measures,  tending  to  affect  the  integrity 
of  the  Union,  might  be  suggested.  But  he  was  present  through  the 
whole  session,  and  found  his  apprehensions  entirely  groundless.  “  No  such 
measure,”  he  said,  “  was  ever  proposed  in  the  Convention,  nor  was  there,” 
in  his  opinion  deliberately  recorded  long  afterwards,  “  a  member  of  that 
body  who  would  have  consented  to  any  act,  which,  in  his  judgment, 
would  have  tended  directly  or  indirectly  to  destroy  or  impair  the  union 
of  the  States.”  If  there  was  ever  a  man  loyal  to  the  constitution  and 
laws  under  which  he  lived,  it  was  Mr.  Prescott ;  nor  did  he  deem  any  one 
of  his  associates  at  Hartford,  in  this  respect,  less  faithful  than  himself. 

In  1818  he  was  appointed  Judge  of  the  Court  of  Common  Pleas  for 
the  City  of  Boston,  and  accepted  the  office,  thinking  to  hold  it  so  as  to 
facilitate  his  retirement  from  the  practice  of  his  profession.  But  he  found 
it  more  laborious  and  engrossing  than  he  had  anticipated,  and  resigned  it 
at  the  end  of  a  year. 

In  1820-21  he  served  as  a  delegate  from  the  city  of  Boston  to  the 


APPENDIX. 


42  o 

Convention  for  revising  the  Constitution  of  the  Commonwealth  of  Massa¬ 
chusetts,  and,  on  its  first  organization,  was  made  chairman  of  the  com¬ 
mittee  charged  with  the  most  difficult  and  perplexing  subject  that  was 
submitted  to  that  body  "or  discussion  and  decision,  —  the  representation 
of  the  people  in  their  own  government.  It  was  not  an  enviable  post;  but, 
by  his  wisdom  and  moderation,  by  an  energy  and  a  firmness  that  were  still 
always  conciliating,  and  by  a  power  of  persuasion  that  rested  on  truth,  he 
at  last  led  the  Convention  to  a  decision,  although,  at  one  critical  moment, 
it  had  seemed  impossible  to  decide  anything.  The  members  of  that  body, 
therefore,  as  distinguished  for  talent  and  for  personal  character  as  any  that 
was  ever  assembled  in  Massachusetts,  ahvays  felt  —  even  those  who  had 
differed  ('••om  him  —  that  they  and  the  Commonwealth  w’ere  under  lasting 
obligations  to  his  wisdom  and  integrity. 

lie  continued  at  the  bar  until  1828,  making  in  all  above  forty  years  of 
service  to  the  law.  During  more  than  half  of  that  time  his  practice  was 
as  extensive,  as  honorable,  and  as  successful  as  that  of  any  member  of  the 
profession  in  the  State,  which,  while  he  belonged  to  it,  numbered  in  its 
ranks  such  men  as  Sullivan,  Parsons,  Dexter,  Otis,  and  Webster,  all  of 
whom,  except  the  last,  ceased  to  be  members  of  the  bar  before  he  did. 
During  the  whole  of  his  professional  life  he  enjoyed,  in  an  eminent  degree, 
the  kindly  regard  and  sincere  respect  of  his  brethren,  and  of  the  different 
members  of  the  courts  before  which  he  was  called  to  practice,  no  one  of 
whom  ever,  for  a  moment,  imagined  that  any  spot  had  fallen  on  the  abso¬ 
lute  purity  and  integrity  of  his  character.  Of  his  distinction  as  a  jurist 
there  was  as  little  doubt.  Mr.  Dauiel  Webster,  when,  with  much  sensi¬ 
bility,  he  announced  Mr.  Prescott’s  death  to  the  Supreme  Court,  then  in 
session  at  Boston,  well  said  of  him,  that  “  at  the  moment  of  his  retire¬ 
ment  from  the  bar  of  Massachusetts  he  stood  at  its  head  for  legal  learning 
and  attainments.” 

The  last  sixteen  years  of  Iris  life  were  spent  in  the  quietness  of  his 
home,  where  his  original  nature,  disencumbered  of  the  cares  that  had  op¬ 
pressed  him  during  a  very  busy  life,  seemed  to  come  forth  with  the  fresh¬ 
ness  of  youth,  lie  read  a  great  deal,  especially  on  subjects  connected 
with  religion,  ethics,  metaphysics,  and  history,  —  all  of  them  sciences  of 
which  he  never  tired.  Agriculture,  too,  the  occupation  of  some  of  his 
earlier  days,  had  great  charms  for  him ;  and  he  showed  no  little  skill  in 
cultivating  the  estate  on  which  he  was  born,  and  where,  during  much  of 
his  life,  and  especially  the  latter  part  of  it,  he  spent  a  happy  portion 
of  each  year.  But  whether  in  the  city,  or  at  Pepperell,  or  on  the  sea¬ 
shore  at  Nahant,  where,  during  many  seasons,  he  passed  the  hottest  weeks 
of  our  hot  summers,  he  loved  to  be  surrounded  by  his  family,  —  his  chil¬ 
dren  and  his  grandchildren  ;  and  with  them  and  among  his  private  friends, 
he  found  in  his  decliniug  years  what,  in  the  intervals  of  leisure  during  his 
whole  life,  he  had  most  enjoyed  and  valued. 

It  was  in  this  happy  retirement  that  there  broke  in  upon  him  the  light 
which  so  gilded  the  mild  evening  of  his  days,  —  the  success  of  his  son  as 
an  historian,  shedding  new  distinction  on  a  name  already  dear  to  his 
country,  and  carrying  that  name  far  beyond  the  limits  of  the  language 
spoken  by  all  who  had  borne  it  before  him.  Mr.  Prescott  in  the  inner¬ 
most  circle  of  his  friends  never  disguised  the  happiness  his  son’s  reputation 


THE  PRESCOTT  FAMILY. 


427 


gave  him,  although  certainly,  from  the  instinctive  modesty  of  his  nature, 
nothing  could  be  more  graceful  than  the  way  in  which  he  expressed  it. 

But  there  is  an  end  to  everything  earthly.  In  the  autumn  of  1843, 
while  at  his  old  home  in  Pepperell,8  lie  had  a  slight  attack  of  paralysis. 
He  recovered  from  it,  however,  easily,  and,  except  to  the  ever-watchful 
eyes  of  affection,  seemed  fully  restored  to  his  wonted  health.  But  he  him¬ 
self  understood  the  warning,  and  lived,  though  cheerfully  and  with  much 
enjoyment  of  life,  yet  as  one  who  never  forgot  that  his  time  must  be  short, 
and  that  his  summons  could  hardly  fail  to  be  sudden.  In  the  last  days  of 
November,  184-4,  he  felt  himself  slightly  incommoded,  — not,  as  before,  in 
the  head,  but  in  the  region  of  the  heart.  As  late,  however,  as  the  evening 
before  his  death,  no  change  was  noticed  in  his  appearance  when  he  retired 
to  bed,  nor  is  it  probable  that,  after  a  night  of  his  usual  comfortable  rest, 
he  noticed  any  change  in  himself  when  he  rose  the  next  morning.  At 
any  rate  he  went,  as  was  his  custom,  quietly  and  directly  to  his  library. 
But  he  had  hardly  reached  it,  when  he  perceived  that  the  messenger  of 
death  was  at  his  side.  He  therefore  desired  the  faithful  attendant,  who 
had  for  many  years  been  attached  to  his  person,  not  to  leave  him,  and  a 
few  moments  afterwards,  surrounded  by  the  family  he  so  much  loved,  ill 
the  full  possession  of  his  faculties,  and  with  a  peaceful  trust  in  his  Maker 
and  in  the  blessedness  of  a  future  life,  he  expired  without  a  struggle.  It 
was  Sunday,  December  the  8th,  1844,  and  on  the  following  Wednesday 
he  was  buried  in  the  crypt  of  St.  Paul’s  Church. 

While  he  was  a  young  lawyer  in  Salem,  Mr.  Prescott  was  married, 
December  18th,  1793,  to  Catherine  Greene  Hickliug,  daughter  o  Thomas 
Hickling,  Esq.,  earlier  a  merchant  of  Boston,  but  then,  and  subsequently 
until  his  death  at  the  age  of  ninety-one,  Consul  of  the  United  States  in 
the  island  of  St.  Michael.  It  was  a  connection  full  of  blessing  to  him 
and  to  his  house  during  the  fifty-one  years  that  it  pleased  God  to  permit 
it  to  be  continued.  Pew  women  have  done  more  to  relieve  their  husbands 
from  the  cares  of  life,  and  to  bear  for  them  even  a  disproportionate  share 
of  its  burdens.  Still  fewer  have,  at  the  same  time,  made  their  influence 
felt  abroad  through  society,  as  she  did.  But  she  was  full  of  energy  and 
activity,  of  health,  cheerfulness,  and  the  love  of  doing  good.  Probably 
no  woman,  in  the  position  she  occupied  among  us,  ever  gave  her  thoughts, 
her  conversation,  and  her  life  in  so  remarkable  a  degree  to  the  welfare  of 
others.  When,  therefore,  she  died,  May  17th,  1852,  nearly  eighty-five 
years  old,  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  her  death  was  mourned  as  a 
public  loss.9 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Prescott  had  seven  children,  all  of  whom  were  born  to 
them  in  Salem,  between  1795  and  1806,  but  four  died  without  reaching 
the  age  of  a  single  year. 

Of  the  other  three  the  eldest  was  the  historian. 

The  next  was  Catherine  Elizabeth,  who  still  survives  (1862).  She  was 
born  November  12th,  1799,  and  was  married  September  28th,  1819,  to 
Franklin  Dexter,  son  of  Samuel  Dexter,  the  eminent  lawyer  and  states¬ 
man.  Mr.  Franklin  Dexter  was  bom  in  179.3,  and,  after  a  careful  aca¬ 
demical  and  professional  education,  and  a  visit  to  the  most  interesting  and 


*  See  ante,  p.  190. 


9  See  ante.  o.  308. 


428 


APPENDIX. 


cultivated  portions  of  Europe,  established  himself  as  a  lawyer  in  Boston. 
He  rose  early  to  distinction  at  the  bar,  and  by  his  courage,  his  quickness 
of  perception,  his  acute  and  manly  logic,  and  an  intellectual  grasp  which 
the  strongest  could  not  escape,  he  vindicated  for  himself  a  place  in  tho 
front  rank  of  a  company  of  eminent  men,  such  as  New  England  had 
never  before  seen  collected.  But  his  tastes  and  his  preferences  led  him 
into  paths  widely  different  from  theirs.  His  mind  turned  instinctively  to 
what  was  refined  and  beautiful.  He  loved  letters  more  than  law,  and  art 
more  than  letters ;  so  that,  perhaps  without  deliberately  intending  it,  he 
always  sought  much  of  his  happiness  in  both,  and  found  it.  When, 
therefore,  he  had  reached  an  age  at  which,  with  a  constitution  of  only 
moderate  vigor,  repose  became  desirable,  and  had  obtained  a  fortune  equal 
to  the  wants  of  one  who  never  over-estimated  the  worth  of  what  the  world 
most  desires,  he  gave  himself  more  and  more  to  the  happiness  of  domestic 
life  and  to  the  pursuit  of  ait,  towards  which,  from  an  early  period,  he  had 
—  and  perhaps  rightly  —  thought  his  genius  more  inclined  than  to  any 
other.  But  life  was  not  long  protracted.  He  died  in  1857,  leaving  be 
hind  him  in  the  minds  of  his  contemporaries  a  persuasion,  that,  if  his 
severe  taste  in  what  related  even  to  his  favorite  pursuits,  and  the  fastidious 
acuteness  with  which  he  looked  quite  through  the  ways  ot  men,  and  de¬ 
tected  the  low  motives  which  often  lead  to  power,  had  not  cnecked  him  in 
mid-career,  he  might  have  risen  to  an  eminence  where  he  would  have  left 
behind  him  not  a  few  of  the  rivals  to  whom,  during  the  active  years  of  his 
life,  he  had  willingly  yielded  the  honors  of  success. 

The  only  brother  of  the  historian  who  lived  beyond  infancy  was  Ed¬ 
ward  Goldsborough,  who  was  born  at  Salem,  January  2d,  1804.  At  a  suit¬ 
able  age,  after  the  removal  of  his  father  to  Boston,  he  was  sent  to  the 
same  school  in  which  his  elder  brother  had  laid  the  foundation  for  his  dis¬ 
tinction.  But  his  tendencies  were  not  then  towards  intellectual  culture, 
and,  at  his  own  earnest  desire,  he  was  placed  in  a  counting-house,  that  he 
might  devote  himself  to  mercantile  pursuits.  A  taste  for  letters  was,  how¬ 
ever,  somewhat  to  his  own  surprise,  awakened  in  him  a  little  later;  and, 
with  sudden  but  earnest  efforts  to  recover  the  time  that  had  been  lost,  he 
succeeded  in  obtaining  a  degree  at  Harvard  College  in  1825.  Subse¬ 
quently,  he  studied  law  with  his  father,  under  tho  most  favorable  circum¬ 
stances  ;  and  after  1 828,  when  he  began  the  practice  of  his  profession,  he 
not  only  took  his  fair  share  of  the  business  of  the  time,  but,  as  so  many 
of  his  family  before  him  had  done,  he  served  the  Commonwealth  both  in 
its  Legislature  and  in  its  military  organization,  rising  to  the  rank  of  colo¬ 
nel  in  the  militia.  This  seemed  for  a  time  to  satisfy  a  nature  too  eager 
for  excitement  and  distinction.  But  after  seven  years  of  great  activity,  a 
change  came  over  him.  He  was  grown  weary  of  a  busy,  bustling  life, 
full  of  temptations  which  he  had  not  always  effectually  resisted.  His  re¬ 
ligious  convictions,  which  from  his  youth  had  been  strong,  if  not  constant, 
now  became  paramount.  He  was  pained  that  he  had  not  better  obeyed 
them,  and,  after  many  struggles,  he  resolutely  determined  to  give  himself 
up  to  them  entirely.  And  he  did  it.  He  began  at  once  a  course  of  reg¬ 
ular  studies  for  the  ministry,  and  in  1837  was  settled  as  an  Episcopalian 
clergyman  in  a  retired  parish  of  New  Jersey,  where  he  devoted  himself 
earnestly  to  the  iuties  ho  had  assumed.  But  his  labors  were  severe,  and 


THE  PRESCOTT  FAMILY. 


429 


his  health  failed  under  them  ;  slowly,  indeed,  but  regularly.  Still,  no 
anxiety  was  felt  for  the  result ;  and  when  he  determined  to  visit  the 
Azores,  where  several  of  his  mother’s  family,  as  we  have  seen,  had  long 
resided,  he  embarked  with  every  promise  that  the  mild  climate  of  those 
Fortunate  Isles  would  restore  the  impaired  forces  of  his  physical  constitu¬ 
tion,  and  permit  him  soon  to  resume  the  duties  he  loved.  But  on  the 
second  day  out,  a  sudden  attack  —  perhaps  apoplectic  and  certainly  one 
of  which  there  had  been  no  warning  symptom — broke  down  his  strength 
at  once;  and  early  the  next  morning,  April  11th,  1844,  he  died  without  a 
movement  of  his  person,  like  one  falling  asleep,  his  watch  held  gently  in 
his  hand,  as  if  he  had  just  been  noting  the  hour. 

After  his  settlement  as  a  clergyman  in  New  Jersey,  he  was  married  to 
an  excellent  and  devoted  wife,  who  survived  him  only  a  few  years,  but 
they  had  no  children. 

William  Hickling  Prescott,  the  historian,  as  it  has  already  been  record¬ 
ed,  has  three  surviving  children,  viz. :  — 

1.  William  Gardiner  Prescott,  born  January  27,  1826,  and  named  after 
his  father’s  friend,  William  Howard  Gardiner,  Esq.  He  was  mar¬ 
ried  November  6,  1851,  to  Augusta,  daughter  of  Joseph  Augustus 
Peabody,  Esq.,  of  Salem,  and  they  have  four  children,  — 

Edith,  born  April  20,  1853, 

William  Hickling,  born  February  22,  1855, 

Linzee,  born  November  27,  1859, 

Louisa,  born  February  19,  1863. 

2.  Elizabeth  Prescott,  born  July  27,  1828,  and  married,  March  16, 
1852,  to  James  Lawrence,  Esq.,  son  of  the  late  Hon.  Abbott  Law¬ 
rence,  Minister  of  the  United  States  at  the  Court  of  St.  James  from 
1849  to  1853.  They  have  three  children, — 

James,  born  March  23,  1853, 

Gertrude,  born  February  19,  1855, 

Prescott,  bom  January  17,  1861. 

3.  William  Amory  Prescott,  born  January  25,  1830,  and  named  after 
his  mother’s  brother  and  his  father’s  friend,  William  Amory,  Esq. 
He  is  unmarried  (1862). 


APPENDIX  B 


THE  CROSSED  SWORDS. 

(See  p.  61.) 

/MOLONEL  WILLIAM  PRESCOTT,  the  grandfather  of  the  his- 
torian,  died,  as  has  been  mentioned,  in  1795.  Captain  John  Linzee, 
grandfather  of  the  historian’s  wife,  was  born  at  Portsmouth,  England,  in 
1743,  but,  establishing  himself  in  the  United  States  after  the  war  of  the 
Revolution  was  over,  died  at  Milton,  near  Boston,  in  1798.  In  process  of 
time,  the  swords  of  these  two  opposing  commanders  came  by  transmission 
and  inheritance  to  the  historian,  and  were  by  hint  arranged,  first  over  one 
of  the  bookcases  in  his  quiet  study  in  Bedford  Street,  and  afterwards  on 
the  cornice  of  his  library  in  Beacon  Street.  In  either  place  the  sight  was 
a  striking  one,  and  generally  attracted  the  attention  of  strangers.  Mr. 
Thackeray,  whose  vigilant  eye  did  not  fail  to  notice  it  when  he  visited 
Mr.  Prescott  in  1852,  thus  alludes  to  it  very  happily  in  the  opening  of  his 
“  Virginians,”  published  six  years  later :  — 

“  On  the  library-wall  of  one  of  the  most  famous  writers  of  America 
there  hang  two  crossed  swords,  which  his  relatives  wore  in  the  great  war 
af  Independence.  The  one  sword  was  gallantly  drawn  in  the  service  of 
the  king,  the  other  was  the  weapon  of  a  brave  and  honored  republican 
soldier.  The  possessor  of  the  harmless  trophy  has  earned  for  himself  a 
name  alike  honored  in  his  ancestors’  country  and  in  his  own,  where  genius 
like  his  has  always  a  peaceful  welcome.” 

By  the  thirteenth  article  of  Mr.  Prescott’s  will  he  provided  for  the  dis¬ 
position  of  these  swords  as  follows  :  — 

“  The  sword  which  belonged  to  my  grandfather,  Colonel  William  Pres¬ 
cott,  worn  by  him  in  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill,  I  give  to  the  Massachusetts 
Historical  Society,  as  a  curiosity  suitable  to  be  preserved  among  their  col 
lections  ;  and  the  sword  which  belonged  to  ray  wife’s  grandfather,  Captain 
Linzee,  of  the  British  Royal  Navy,  who  commanded  one  of  the  enemy’s 
ship’s  lying  off  Charlestown  during  the  same  battle,  I  give  to  my  wife.” 

As  Mrs.  Prescott,  and  the  other  heirs  of  Captain  Linzee,  desired  that 
the  swords  should  not  be  separated,  Mr.  Gardiner,  who  was  Mr.  Prescott’s 
executor,  sent  them  both  to  the  Historical  Society,  accompanied  by  an  in¬ 
teresting  letter  addressed  to  the  Hon.  Robert  C.  Winthrop,  its  President, 
and  to  be  found,  dated  April  19th,  1859,  in  the  volume  of  the  “Proceed¬ 
ings  ”  of  that  Society  published  in  1860,  pp.  258-264. 

Resolutions  offered  by  Mr.  Winthrop  were  unanimously  adopted,  di¬ 
recting  the  swords  to  be  arranged  in  a  conspicuous  place  in  the  halls  of 
the  Society,  crossing  each  other,  as  they  had  been  crossed  in  Mr.  Prescott’s 


THE  CROSSED  SWORDS. 


431 


library,  and  with  suitable  inscriptions  jetting  forth  their  history  and  the 
circumstances  of  their  reception. 

A  tablet  of  black-walnut  was,  therefore,  prepared,  to  which  they  now 
stand  attached,  crossed  through  a  carved  wreath  of  olive-leaves ;  while 
over  them  are  two  shields,  leaning  against  each  other,  and  bearing  respec¬ 
tively  the  Prescott  and  the  Linzee  arms. 


On  the  right,  next  to  the  hilt  of 
Colonel  Prescott’s  sword,  is  the  fol¬ 
lowing  inscription 

The  sword 
of 

COLONEL  WILLIAM  PRESCOTT, 

worn  by  him 
while  in  command  of  the 
Provincial  forces 

Battle  of  Bunker  Hill, 

17  June,  1775, 
and 

bequeathed  to  the 
Massachusetts  Historical  Society 
by  his  grandson 
William  H.  Prescott. 


On  the  left,  next  to  the  hilt  of 
Captain  Linzee’s  sword,  is  the  fol¬ 
lowing  inscription : — 

The  sword 
of 

CAPTAIN  JOHN  LINZEE,  R.  N., 

who  commanded  the 
British  sloop-of-war  “  Falcon  ” 
while  acting  against  the  Americans 
during  the  Battle  of  Bunker  Hill, 
presented  to  the 

Massachusetts  Historical  Society, 

14  April,  1S59, 
by  his  grandchildren 
Thomas  C.  A,  Linzee 
and 

Mrs.  William  H.  Prescott. 


On  two  separate  scrolls  is  the  following  inscription  :  — 


These  swords 

for  many  years  were  hung  crossed 
in  the  library 

of  the  late  eminent  historian 
WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT, 
in  token  of 

international  friendship 
and 

family  alliance. 


They 

are  now  preserved 
in  a  similar  position 
by  the 

MASS.  HISTORICAL  SOCIETY, 

in  memory 
of  the  associations 
with  which  they  will  be 
inseparably  connected. 


On  the  evening  of  Thursday,  April  28,  1859,  at  a  meecing  of  the  So¬ 
ciety,  held  at  the  house  of  its  President,  the  Hon.  Robert  C.  Winthrop, 
the  Rev.  Dr.  N.  L.  Prothingham  —  who,  at  the  special  meeting  of  the 
Society,  called  together  by  the  death  of  the  historian,  had  in  apt  and 
beautiful  words  offered  an  affectionate  tribute  to  the  character  of  his  friend 
and  parishioner  —  read  the  following  lines,  which,  in  words  no  less  apt 
and  touching,  give  the  poetical  interpretation  of 


THE  CROSSED  SWORDS. 

Swords  crossed,  —  but  not  in  strife ! 

The  chiefs  who  drew  them,  parted  by  the  space 
Of  two  proud  countries’  quarrel,  face  to  face 
Ne’er  stood  for  death  or  life. 


APPENDIX 


4o2 


Swords  crossed,  that  never  met 
While  nerve  was  in  the  hands  that  wielded  them; 

Hands  better  destined  a  fair  family  stem 
On  these  free  shores  to  set. 

Kept  crossed  by  gentlest  bands ! 

Emblems  no  more  of  battle,  bat  of  peace; 

And  proof  how  loves  can  grow  and  wars  can  cease, 
l'heir  once  stern  symbol  stands. 

It  smiled  first  on  the  array 
Of  marshalled  books  and  friendliest  companies; 

And  here,  a  history  among  histories, 

It  still  shall  smile  for  aye. 

See  that  thou  memory  keep, 

Of  him  the  firm  commander;  and  that  other, 

The  stainless  judge;  and  him  our  peerless  brother,  — 

All  fallen  now  asleep. 

Yet  more;  a  lesson  teach, 

To  cheer  the  patriot-soldier  in  his  course, 

That  Right  shall  triumph  still  o’er  insolent  Force: 

That  be  your  silent  speech. 

Oh,  be  prophetic  too! 

And  may  those  nations  twain,  as  sign  and  seal 
Of  endless  amity,  hang  up  their  steel, 

As  we  these  weapons  do! 

The  archives  of  the  Past, 

So  smeared  with  blots  of  hate  and  bloody  wrong, 

Pining  for  peace,  and  sick  to  wait  so  long, 

Hail  this  meek  cross  at  last. 

And  so  was  fitly  closed  up  the  history  of  this  singular  trophy,  if  trophv 
that  can  be  called  which  was  won  from  no  enemy,  and  which  is  a  memento 
at  once  of  a  defeat  that  was  full  of  glory,  and  of  triumphs  in  the  field  of 
letters  more  brilliant  than  those  in  the  fields  of  war. 


APPENDIX  C 


EXTRACTS  FROM  A  LETTER  ADDRESSED  BY  MR.  ED¬ 
MUND  B.  OTIS,  FORMERLY  MR.  PRESCOTT'S  SECRE¬ 
TARY,  TO  MR.  TICKNOR. 


(See  p.  217,  note.) 

Bostok,  June  4th,  1869. 

My  dear  Sir. 

I  well  recollect  the  first  interview  I  had  with  the  author  of  “  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella.”  I  visited  him  at  his  library  in  his  father’s  house  in  Bed¬ 
ford  Street,  where  he  resided  in  the  summer  of  1841.  I  had  previously 
read  his  History,  and  had  copied,  when  a  Sophomore,  several  of  the  closing 
chapters  of  the  work,  by  way  of  a  voluntary  rhetorical  exercise,  as  I  ad¬ 
mired  the  purity  and  beauty  of  his  style,  little  thinking,  at  the  time,  that 
it  would  be  my  fate  to  copy  several  volumes  of  his  subsequent  composi¬ 
tions.  I  had  heard  that  he  was  blind ;  and,  from  the  nature  and  amount 
of  his  historical  lore,  I  had  expected  to  see  an  old  gentleman,  somewhat 
the  worse  for  wear.  My  surprise  was  very  great  when  I  was  greeted  by 
a  tall,  handsome  man,  in  the  prime  of  life,  who  did  not  appear  to  me  over 
thirty  years  of  age,  although  at  that  time  he  must  have  been  about  forty- 
five.  He  seemed  amused  at  the  surprise,  which  I  did  not  probably  entirely 
conceal,  and  asked  me  if  I  had  not  expected  to  find  him  halt,  lame,  and 
maimed,  as  well  as  blind. 

He  was  more  strongly  attracted,  he  told  me,  to  civil  than  to  literary 
history,  as  his  audience  would  be  so  much  larger ;  —  the  literary  historian, 
necessarily,  in  a  great  measure,  addressing  himself  to  scholars,  who  may 
alone  be  supposed  to  be  deeply  interested  in  his  subject,  and  who  alone 
are  competent  to  decide  upon  his  merit,  while  the  civil  historian  has  the 
world  for  his  audience,  and  may  interest  every  man  who  has  civil  or  re¬ 
ligious  rights  and  liberties  to  study  and  defend.  This  was  the  substance 
of  the  first  conversation  I  ever  had  with  Mr.  Prescott,  though,  at  this  dis¬ 
tance  of  time,  I  do  not  attempt  to  report  his  exact  language. 

Although  he  enjoyed  the  variety  of  a  sea-shore,  country,  and  city  life, 
there  was  a  uniformity,  regularity,  and  order  in  his  mode  and  habit  of 
living,  that  I  have  never  seen  equalled  by  any  other  man.  One  day  was 
very  much  the  counterpart  of  another ;  and  I  sometimes  thought  that  he 
had  reduced  life  to  such  a  system,  and  regulated  his  every  action  so  much 
by  rule,  that  there  was  danger  of  merging  volition  in  a  mechanical,  clock¬ 
work  existence,  and  losing  liberty  in  the  race  for  knowledge  and  fame. 

19  B  B 


434 


APPENDIX. 


This  regularity  and  uniformity  of  life  were  undoubtedly  necessary  fot 
the  preservation  of  his  health,  and  the  performance  of  his  self-imposed 
literary  tasks. 

Mr.  Prescott  has  given  some  account,  in  the  Preface  to  his  “  History 
of  the  Conquest  of  Peru,”  and,  I  believe,  in  the  Prefaces  to  his  other 
works,  of  the  nature  and  degree  of  his  impaired  vision,  of  his  use  of  a 
noctograph  or  writing-case  for  the  blind,  and  of  the  general  duties  of  his 
secretary,  with  all  of  which  you  must  be  familiar ;  but  perhaps  it  may  not 
be  without  interest,  if  I  give  from  memory  a  brief  sketch  of  his  mods  of 
writing  a  chapter  of  history. 

Tt  was  the  habit  of  Mr.  Prescott,  as  you  are  aware,  to  study  the  grand 
outlines  of  his  subject,  and  to  plan  the  general  arrangement  and  propor 
tions  of  his  work,  —  classifying  the  various  topics  he  would  have  to  treat, 
and  dividing  them  into  books  and  chapters,  — before  studying  them  closely 
in  detail,  when  preparing  to  compose  a  chapter.  When  he  had  decided 
upon  the  subject  to  be  discussed,  or  events  to  be  related,  in  a  particular 
chapter,  he  carefully  read  all  that  portion  of  his  authorities,  in  print  and 
manuscript,  bearing  on  the  subject  of  the  chapter  in  hand,  using  tables  of 
contents  and  indices,  and  taking  copious  notes  of  each  authority  as  he 
read,  marking  the  volume  and  page  of  each  statement  for  future  reference. 
These  notes  I  copied  in  a  large,  legible  hand,  so  that,  at  times,  he  could 
read  them,  though  more  frequently  I  read  them  aloud  to  him,  until  he  had 
impressed  them  completely  on  his  memory.  After  this  had  been  accom¬ 
plished,  he  would  occupy  several  days  iu  silently  digesting  this  mental 
provender,  balancing  the  conflicting  testimony  of  authorities,  arranging 
the  details  of  his  narrative,  selecting  his  ornaments,  rounding  his  periods, 
and  moulding  the  whole  chapter  in  his  mind,  as  an  orator  might  prepare 
his  speech.  Many  of  his  best  battle-scenes,  he  told  me,  he  had  composed 
while  on  horseback.  Ilis  vivid  imagination  carried  him  back  to  the  six¬ 
teenth  century,  and  he  almost  felt  himself  a  Castilian  knight,  charging 
with  Cortc's,  Sandoval,  and  Alvarado  on  the  Aztec  foe. 

When  he  had  fully  prepared  his  chapter  in  his  mind,  he  began  to  dash 
it  off  with  rapidity  by  the  use  of  his  writing-case.  As  he  did  not  see  his 
paper  when  he  wrote,  he  sometimes  wrote  twice  over  the  same  lines,  which 
did  not  have  a  tendency  to  render  them  more  legible.  His  usual  fluency 
of  composition  was  sometimes  interrupted,  not  by  a  dearth,  but  by  too 
great  copiousness  of  expression,  several  synonymous  phrases  or  parallel 
forms  of  speech  presenting  themselves  at  once.  All  these  he  wrote  down, 
one  after  the  other,  in  duplicate,  to  be  weighed  and  criticised  at  leisure, 
not  waiting  to  settle  the  difficulty  at  the  time,  fearing  that  by  delay  he 
might  lose  the  ease  of  style  which  usually  accompanies  rapidity  of  com¬ 
position.  When  beginning  to  describe  a  battle,  he  would  often,  to  rouse 
his  military  enthusiasm,  as  he  said,  hum  to  himself  his  favorite  air,  “  0 
give  me  but  my  Arab  steed,”  &c. 

As  the  sheets  were  stricken  off,  I  deciphered  them,  and  was  ready  to 
read  them  to  him  when  he  had  finished  the  chapter.  He  was  as  cautious 
in  correction  as  he  was  rapid  in  writing.  Each  word  and  sentence  wm 


LETTER  OF  MR.  OTIS. 


435 


carefully  weighed,  and  subjected  to  the  closest  analysis.  If  found  wanting 
in  strength  or  beauty,  it  was  changed  and  turned  until  the  exact  expres¬ 
sion  required  was  found,  when  lie  dictated  the  correction,  which  was  made 
by  me  on  his  manuscript.  He  allowed  nothing  to  remain,  however  beau¬ 
tiful  in  itself,  which  he  did  not  think  added  to  the  beauty  and  strength  of 
the  whole.  He  hated  fine  writing,  merely  as  fine  writing.  I  have  known 
him  mercilessly  to  strike  out  several  pages  of  beautiful  imagery,  which  he 
believed  on  reflection  had  a  tendency  rather  to  weaken  than  enhance  the 
effect  he  desired  to  produce. 

After  the  chapter  had  been  thus  carefully  corrected,  I  copied  it  in  a 
large,  heavy,  pike-staff  hand,  that  those  who  run  might  read.  I  had  to 
acquire  the  hand  for  the  occasion,  and  my  practice  in  that  line  may  ac¬ 
count  for  my  present  legible,  but  somewhat  inelegant  ehirography.  When 
the  chapter  was  copied  in  this  large  hand,  Mr.  Prescott  re-perused  and  re¬ 
corrected  it.  He  then  read  again  my  copy  of  the  original  notes  that  he 
had  taken  from  the  authorities  on  which  he  founded  his  chapter,  and  from 
them  prepared  the  remarks,  quotations,  and  references  found  in  his  foot¬ 
notes,  which  were  also  usually  rapidly  stricken  off  with  his  writing-case, 
and  copied  by  me  in  the  same  large,  legible  hand  with  the  text.  This 
copy  was  again  and  again  carefully  scrutinized  and  corrected  by  himself. 

Mr.  Prescott  believed  that  an  historian  could  not  be  too  careful  in 
guarding  against  inaccuracies.  I  recollect  that,  when  he  had  finished  the 
“  History  of  the  Conquest  of  Mexico,”  the  whole  manuscript  was  submit¬ 
ted  to  yourself  for  critical  suggestions  and  corrections,  the  value  of  which 
he  acknowledges  in  his  Preface.  When  the  manuscript  was  sent  to  press, 
before  the  plates  were  stereotyped,  the  printed  sheets  were  sent  to  the 
author,  for  his  final  corrections,  besides  being  subjected  to  the  careful  in 
spection  of  Mr.  Nichols,  the  corrector  of  the  Cambridge  press,  and  to  the 
sharp  eye  of  Mr.  Charles  Folsom,  whose  critical  acumen  Mr.  Prescott 
fully  appreciated. 

Mr.  Prescott  loved  his  books  almost  as  he  loved  his  children  ;  he  liked 
to  see  them  well  dressed,  in  rich,  substantial  bindings  ;  and  if  one,  by  any 
accident,  was  dropped,  “  it  annoved  him,”  he  said  jestingly,  “  almost  as 
much  as  if  a  baby  fell.” 


APPENDIX  D. 


LITERARY  HONORS. 

(See  p.  224,  note.) 

17 ROM  the  time  when,  in  1838,  Mr.  Prescott’s  reputation  “burst  out 
^  into  sudden  blaze,”  literary  honors  of  all  kinds  awaited  him  in  pro- 
fusion,  both  at  home  and  abroad.  I  will  give  here  a  list  of  the  more  con¬ 
siderable  of  them  in  the  order  of  time. 

1838.  Massachusetts  Historical  Society,  Boston. 

American  Philosophical  Society,  Philadelphia. 

Rhode  Island  Historical  Society,  Providence. 

1839.  Royal  Academy  of  History,  Madrid. 

Royal  Academy  of  Sciences,  Naples. 

American  Antiquarian  Society,  Worcester,  Mass. 

New  York  Historical  Society,  New  York  city. 

Georgia  Historical  Society,  Savannah. 

New  Hampshire  Historical  Society,  Concord. 

1840.  American  Academy  of  Arts  and  Sciences,  Boston. 

Literary  and  Historical  Society  of  Quebec. 

1841.  Herculaneum  Academy,  Naples. 

Doctor  of  Laws,  Columbia  College,  South  Carolina. 

1842.  Kentucky  Historical  Society,  Louisville. 

1843.  Doctor  of  Laws,  Harvard  College,  Massachusetts. 

Indiana  Historical  Society,  Indianapolis. 

1844.  Maryland  Historical  Society,  Baltimore. 

National  Institute,  Washington,  D.  C. 

1845.  French  Institute,  Academy  of  Moral  Sciences,  Paris. 

Royal  Society  of  Berlin. 

1 846.  New  Jersey  Historical  Society,  Princeton. 

1847.  Royal  Society  of  Literature  London. 

Society  of  Antiquaries,  London. 

New  England  Historic-Genealogical  Society,  Boston. 

1848.  Doctor  of  Laws,  Columbian  College,  Washington,  D.  C- 
1850.  Doctor  of  Civil  Law,  Oxford,  England. 

1S51.  Mexican  Society  of  Geography  and  Statistics,  Mexico. 

1S52.  Royal  Irish  Academy,  Dublin. 

1854.  Wisconsin  Historical  Society,  Madison. 

1856.  Historical  Society  of  Florida,  St.  Augustine. 

Historical  Society  of  Iowa,  Burlington. 

1857.  Historical  Society  of  Tennessee,  Nashville. 


LITERARY  HONORS. 


437 


He  received  the  honors  of  membership  from  several  societies  of  young 
men  in  different  parts  of  the  country,  two  or  three  of  which,  like  a  de¬ 
bating-society  at  Cambridge,  a  literary  association  at  Philadelphia,  and  one 
at  Marysville,  Kentucky,  took  his  name.  He  was  not  insensible  to  such 
marks  of  regard  from  those  who,  in  the  coming  generation,  are  to  be  a 
part  of  the  voice  of  posterity. 


APPENDIX  E 


TRANSLATIONS  OF  MR.  PRESCOTT’S  HISTORIES. 

I.  Spanish. 

HISTORIA  del  Reinado  de  los  Reyes  Catolicos,  D.  Fernando  y  Da. 

Isabel,  eserita  en  Ingles  por  William  H.  Prescott,  traducida  del 
Original  por  D.  Pedro  Sabau  y  Larroya.  4  tom.  8to.  Madrid,  Riva- 
deneyra,  1845,  1846. 

liistoria  de  la  Conquista  de  Mejico  con  nna  Resena  preliminar  de  la 
Civilizacion  antigua  Mejieana  y  la  Vida  del  Conquistador,  Hernan  Cortes, 
eserita  en  Ingle's  por  William  Prescott  (sic),  y  traducida  del  Original  por 
D.  J.  B.  de  Beratarrechea.  3  tom.  8vo.  Madrid,  Rivadeneyra,  1847. 

Historia  de  la  Conquista  de  Mexico  con  una  Ojeada  preliminar  sobre  la 
antigua  Civilizacion  de  los  Mexicanos  y  con  la  Vida  de  su  Conquistador, 
Fernando  Cortes.  Eserita  en  Ingle's  por  W.  Prescott  (sic),  y  traducida 
al  Espanol  por  Joaquin  Navarro.  3  tom.  8vo.  Mexico,  impreso  por 
Ignacio  Cumplido,  editor  de  esta  Obra,  1844-6. 

The  second  volume  contains  one  hundred  and  twenty-four  pages  of  notes 
on  the  whole  work,  by  D.  Jose'  F.  Ramirez,  and  the  third  consists  of  seventy- 
one  lithographic  prints  of  the  antiquities  of  Mexico,  portraits  of  persons 
who  have  figured  in  its  history,  &c.,  with  explanations  to  illustrate  them, 
by  D.  Isidro  R.  Gondra,  head  of  the  Mexican  Museum. 

Historia  de  la  Conquista  de  Mejico  con  un  Bosquejo  preliminar  de  la 
Civilizacion  de  los  antiguos  Mejicanos  y  la  Vida  de  su  Conquistador, 
Hernando  Cortes,  eserita  en  Ingle's  por  Guillermo  H.  Prescott,  Autor  de 
la  “  Historia  de  Fernando  e  Isabel,”  traducida  al  Castellano  por  D.  Jose 
Maria  Gonzalez  de  la  Vega,  Segundo  Fiscal  del  Tribunal  Superior  del 
llepartamcnto  de  Mejico,  y  anotada  por  D.  Lucas  Alaman.  2  tom.  8yo 
grande.  Mejico,  imprenta  de  V.  G.  Torres,  1844. 

I  have  imperfect  notices  of  the  following  translations  into  Spanish  :  — 

Historia  de  los  Reyes  Catolicos  por  Guillermo  Prescot  (sic),  traducida 
por  D.  Atiliano  Calvo.  Edicion  ilustrada  con  buenos  grabados  que  repre- 
sentan  diversos  pasages,  vistas  y  retratos  de  los  mas  ce'lebres  personages. 
1  tomo.  4to. 

Historia  del  Descubrimiento  y  Conquista  del  Peru,  con  Observacioues 
preliminares  sobre  la  Civilizacion  de  los  Incas.  2  tom.  8vo.  Madrid. 

There  is  also  a  translation  of  the  “  History  of  Philip  the  Second,”  but 
it  L  perhaps,  not  yet  all  published. 


TRANSLATIONS  OF  MR.  PRESCOTT’S  HISTORIES. 


43y 


II.  French. 

Histoire  du  Regne  de  Ferdinand  et  d’Isr.belle,  traduite  de  1’ Anglais  do 
Guillaume  II.  Prescott,  par  J.  Eenson  et  P.  Ithicr.  4  vol.  8vo.  Paris  et 
Bruxelles,  Didot,  1860,  1861. 

Histoire  de  la  Conquete  du  Me'xique,  avec  un  tableau  preliminaire  dt 
I’ancienne  Civilisation  Me'xicaine,  et  la  Vie  de  Fernand  Corte's,  par  Wil 
liam  H.  Prescott,  publie'e  en  Franyais  par  Ame'dee  Pichot.  3  vol.  8vo 
I’aris,  F.  Didot,  1846. 

Histoire  de  la  Conquete  du  Perou,  pre'cede'e  d’un  Tableau  do  la  Civili 
sation  des  Incas,  par  W.  II.  Prescott,  traduite  de  1’ Anglais  par  H.  Poret 
3  vol.  8vo.  Paris,  F.  Didot,  1860. 

Histoire  du  Regne  de  Philippe  Second,  par  Guillaume  II.  Prescott,  tra 
duite  de  l’Anglais  par  G.  Reason  et  P.  Ithicr.  Tomes  I.  et  II.  I’aris 
F.  Didot,  1860. 

Don  Carlos,  sa  Vie  et  sa  Mort,  par  W.  II.  Prescott,  traduite  de  l’An 
glais  par  G.  llenson.  8vo.  Bruxelles,  Van  Meneen  et  Cic,  1860. 

III.  Italian. 

Storia  del  Regno  di  Ferdinando  e  Isabella,  Sovrani  Cattolici  di  Spagna, 
di  II.  Prescott  (sic),  recato  per  prima  volta  in  Italiauo  da  Ascanio  Tern- 
pestini.  3  tom.  8vo.  Firenze,  per  V.  Batelli  e  Compagni,  1847,  1848. 

A  notice  of  the  original  work  by  the  Marquis  Gino  Capponi,  who  took 
much  interest  in  having  it  translated,  may  be  found  in  the  “Archivio 
Storico  Italiano,”  Tom.  II.,  1845  ;  Appendice,  p.  606. 

A  portion  of  the  “  History  of  the  Conquest  of  Peru  ”  was  translated 
into  Italian  and  published  at  Florence  in  1855  and  1856,  in  two  parts,  but 
it  was  made  from  the  Spanish  version  and  not  from  the  original  English. 
The  first  is  entitled,  “  Compendio  delle  Notizie  generali  sul  Peru  avanti 
la  Conquista,  cc.,  tratte  dalla  Storia  di  Guglielmo  Prescott,  e  recatc  in 
Italiano  da  Cjesare]  M[aghcrini].”  8vo.  Firenze,  Tipografia  Gali- 
leiana,  1855.  The  other  part  is  entitled,  “  Scoperta  e  Conquista  del  Peril, 
Storia  di  Guglielmo  Prescott,  tradotta  da  Cjesare]  Mjagherini].”  8vo. 
Firenze,  Tipografia  Galileiana,  1856.  This  last  translation  stops  at  the 
year  1551,  the  year  of  Gonzalvo  Pizarro’s  death. 

IV.  German. 

Geschichte  der  Regierung  Ferdinand’s  uud  Isabella’s  der  Katholischen 
von  Spanien.  Von  William  H.  Prescott.  Aus  dem  Englischen  iibersetzt 
[von  H.  Eberty],  2  Bande.  8vo.  Leipzig,  Brockhaus,  1842. 

Geschichte  der  Eroberungvon  Mexico,  mit  einer  einleitenden  Uebersicht 
des  friihere  mexicauischen  Bildungszustandes  uud  dem  Lebeu  des  Ero- 
berers,  Hernando  Cortez.  Von  William  H.  Prescott.  Aus  dem  Engli- 
schen  iibersetzt  [von  H.  Eberty].  2  Bande.  8vo.  Leipzig,  Brockhaus, 
1845. 

Geschichte  der  Eroberung  von  Peru,  mit  einer  einleitenden  Uebersicht 


440 


APPENDIX. 


des  Bildungszustandes  unter  den  Inkas.  Von  William  H.  Prescott.  Aus 
dem  Englischen  iibersetzt  [Von  H.  Eberty].  2  Bande.  Svo.  Leipzig, 
Brockhaus,  1848. 

Geschichte  Pliilipp’s  des  Zweiten,  von  William  H.  Prescott.  Deutsch 
von  Joh.  Scherr.  Svo.  Theil  I.  -  III.  Leipzig,  0.  Wigand,  1855,  sqq. 

Das  Klosterleben  Carl’s  des  Piinften,  von  W.  H.  Prescott.  Aus  dem 
Englischen  von  Julius  Seybel.  8vo.  Leipzig,  Lorck,  1857. 

This  last  constitutes  the  twenty-third  volume  of  Lorck’s  “  Conversa¬ 
tions-  und  Reise-Bibliothek.” 


V.  Dutch. 

Zeden,  Gewoonten  en  Regeringsvorm  in  Peru  voor  de  Komst  der  Span- 
jaarden,  geschetst  door  W.  II.  Prescott,  uit  het  Engelsch  vertaald  door 
Mr.  G.  Mees,  Az.  8vo.  pp.  162.  Amsterdam,  P.  Kraij,  Junior,  1849. 

This  is  a  translation  of  the  first  book  of  the  “  History  of  the  Conquest 
of  Peru,”  omitting  a  considerable  number  of  the  notes. 

All  the  historical  works  of  Mr.  Prescott,  in  the  original  English,  have 
been  reprinted  both  in  Paris  and  in  Leipzig  ;  and,  I  believe,  other  trans¬ 
lations  have  been  made  of  some  of  them,  notices  of  which  I  have  failed  to 
obtain.  The  “  History  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella”  is  said  to  have  ap¬ 
peared  in  Dutch  and  Russian,  but  I  have  no  distinct  account  of  either. 


APPENDIX  F 


CONVERSATION  OF  MR.  PRESCOTT  SHORTLY  BEFORE 
HIS  DEATH. 


HE  last  printed  notice  of  Mr.  Prescott  and  of  his  conversation  is  a 


very  interesting  one,  by  the  Reverend  William  H.  Milburn,  of 
New  York,  the  blind,  or  nearly  blind,  friend  of  whom  Mr.  Prescott  speaks 
more  than  once  in  his  letters.  From  their  common  misfortune  they  had 
a  strong  sympathy  with  each  other ;  and  Mr.  Milburn,  having  chanced  to 
visit  the  historian  the  evening  bat  one  before  the  day  of  his  death,  wrote  an 
account  of  his  interview  immediately  afterwards  to  the  Messrs.  Harpers 
for  their  “  Weekly,”  February  12th,  1859. 

“  On  the  evening  in  question,”  says  Mr.  Milburn,  “  Wednesday,  Jan¬ 
uary  26th,  Mr.  Prescott  entered  the  library  with  a  slower  and  heavier  step 
than  when  I  had  been  in  the  habit  of  seeing  him  years  before ;  but  his 
manner  had  the  same  unaffected  simplicity  and  cordial  warmth.  Whether 
a  stranger  would  have  perceived  it,  I  cannot  say ;  but  my  ear,  sharpened 
by  necessity,  at  once  detected  the  work  of  paralysis  in  an  occasional  thicken¬ 
ing  of  the  speech,  —  I  mean,  a  difficulty  in  perfect  articulation  now  and 
then  Among  his  very  first  inquiries  was  a  particular  one  concerning  the 
members  of  your  own  firm,  —  your  health,  the  state  and  prospects  of  your 
business,  &c.,  manifesting  the  deepest  interest;  adding  the  remark  that, 
through  all  the  years  of  his  business  and  personal  connection  with  your 
firm,  he  had  never  experienced  anything  but  the  greatest  kindness  and 
consideration  at  your  hands ;  that  his  enjoyment  of  your  success  was  un¬ 
diminished  ;  and  that  he  felt  particularly  grateful  for  the  kindly  mention 
which  had  been  made  of  his  personal  affliction  last  year  in  your  paper,  and 
for  the  handsome  notice  of  the  third  volume  of  his  *  Philip  the  Second  ’  in 
the  current  number  of  your  ‘  Magazine.’ 

“  He  then  proceeded  to  a  mention  of  various  mutual  friends  that  had 
passed  away  since  our  last  meeting,  especially  of  the  Hon.  Abbott  Law¬ 
rence  and  Mr.  Francis  C.  Gray,  at  whose  dinner-tables  we  had  often  met ; 
and  then  of  some  of  his  surviving  friends,  especially  of  Mr.  Ticknor,  who, 
he  said,  had  shortened  and  brightened  what,  but  for  him,  must  have  been 
many  a  sad  and  weary  hour ;  and  of  Mr.  Agassiz,  concerning  whose 
Museum  he  expressed  the  liveliest  interest.  He  remarked  that  the  eyes 
of  the  latter  had  suffered  greatly  from  his  work,  and  that  he  would  be 
sadly  balked  in  his  prospects,  but  that  he  was  able  to  find  relief  in  mani¬ 
fold  manipulating  labors.  This  led  him  naturally  to  speak  of  his  own  and 
my  infirmity,  which  were  about  equal  in  degree,  and  of  the  different  live) 
we  had  led  ;  —  his,  of  retired  study ;  mine,  of  travel  and  active  toil. 

“  He  aided  .  ‘  I  suppose  that  Ticknor  will  never  write  another  book 


19# 


442 


APPENDIX. 


hut  he  has  been  doing  perhaps  better  for  the  community  and  posterity  by 
devoting  himself  for  several  years  to  the  interests  of  the  Boston  City 
Library,  which  may  be  taken  in  good  part  as  his  work,  —  and  a  more 
valuable  contribution  to  the  good  of  the  people  has  seldom  been  made. 
It  is  a  rare  thing  for  such  an  institution  to  get  a  man  so  qualified  by  taste, 
knowledge,  and  accomplishment  to  look  after  its  interests  with  such  energy 
and  patience.’ 

“  Of  Mr.  Gray  he  observed  :  ‘  Poor  Gray !  I  think  he  was  the  most 
remarkable  man  I  ever  knew  for  variety  and  fulness  of  information,  and  a 
perfect  command  of  it.  He  was  a  walking  Encyclopedia.  I  have  seen 
many  men  who  had  excellent  memories,  provided  you  would  let  them 
turn  to  their  libraries  to  get  the  information  you  wanted ;  but,  no  matter 
on  what  subject  you  spoke  to  him,  his  knowledge  was  at  his  fingers’-ends, 
and  entirely  at  your  service.’ 

“  He  then  led  the  conversation  to  his  English  friends,  to  some  of  whom 
he  had  given  me  letters  on  my  recent  visit  to  that  country.  He  first  spoke 
of  Lady  Lycll,  the  wife  of  the  celebrated  geologist.  ‘  She  is  one  of  the 
most  charming  people  I  have  ever  seen,’  he  said.  ‘  When  she  married 
Sir  Charles,  she  knew  nothing  of  geology ;  but,  finding  that  her  life  was 
to  be  passed  among  stones,  she  set  herself  to  work  to  make  friends  of 
them,  and  has  done  so  to  perfection.  She  is  in  thorough  sympathy  with 
all  her  husband’s  researches  and  works  ;  is  the  companion  of  his  journeys  ; 
oftentimes  his  amanuensis,  for  her  hand  has  written  several  of  his  books; 
and  the  delight  and  cheer  of  his  whole  life.  Unaffected,  genial,  accom¬ 
plished,  and  delightful  to  an  almost  unequalled  extent,  she  is  one  of  the 
rarest  women  you  can  meet.  And,’  he  continued,  ‘  you  saw  my  friend 
Dean  Milman.  What  an  admirable  person  he  is  !  I  had  a  letter  from 
him  only  a  day  or  two  since,  in  which  he  gave  an  interesting  account  of 
the  opening  of  his  Cathedral,  St.  Paul’s,  to  the  popular  Sunday-evening 
preachings,  —  a  matter  which  has  enlisted  all  the  sympathies  of  the  Bishop 
of  Loudon  and  of  himself.  He  has  been  a  prodigiously  hard  worker,  and 
so  has  acquired  a  prematurely  old  look.  Accomplished  as  historian, 
divine,  poet,  and  man  of  letters,  he  is  at  the  same  time  among  the  most 
agreeable  and  finished  men  of  society  I  saw  in  England.’ 

“  ‘  Did  you  see  Dean  Trench '?  ’  he  proceeded.  Upon  my  replying  in 
the  affirmative,  he  added  :  ‘  I  am  sorry  never  to  have  seen  him  ;  I  have 
heard  such  pleasant  things  concerning  him.  He  did  me  the  favor  some 
time  since  to  send  me  his  “  Calderon,”  which  I  enjoyed  greatly.’  Replv- 
ing  in  the  negative  to  my  inquiry  as  to  whether  he  had  read  the  Dean’s 
books  on  ‘  Words,’  &c.,  he  said,  <  They  shall  be  the  very  next  books  I 
*-ead.’ 

“  <  England ’s  a  glorious  country,’  he  said,  ‘  is  n’t  it  I  What  a  hearty 
and  noble  people  they  are,  and  how  an  American’s  heart  warms  toward 
them  after  he  has  been  there  once,  and  found  them  out  in  their  hospitable 
homes  !  ’ 

“  I  said  :  ‘  Mr.  Prescott,  are  n’t  you  coming  to  New  York  ?  We  should 
all  be  very  glad  to  see  you  there.’  ‘  No,’  he  replied,  ‘  I  suppose  that  the 
days  of  my  long  journeys  are  over.  I  must  content  myself,  like  Horace, 
with  my  three  houses.  You  know  I  go  at  the  commencement  of  summer 
to  my  cottage  by  the  seaside  at  Lynn  Beach,  and  in  autumn  to  my  patri- 


LETTER  OF  THE  REV.  MR.  MIL3URN. 


443 


moni&I  acres  at  Pepperell,  which  have  been  in  our  family  for  two  hundred 
years,  to  sit  under  the  old  trees  I  sat  under  when  a  boy ;  and  then,  with 
winter,  come  to  town  to  hibernate  in  this  house.  This  is  the  only  travel¬ 
ling,  I  suppose,  that  I  shall  do  until  I  go  to  my  long  home.  Do  you 
remember  the  delightful  summer  you  spent  with  us  at  Lynn,  two  or  three 
years  ago  1  I  wish  you  would  come  and  repeat  it  next  summer.’ 

“  In  another  part  of  the  conversation  he  said  :  ‘  These  men  with  eyes 
have  us  at  a  serious  disadvantage,  have  n’t  they1?  While  they  run,  we 
can  only  limp.  But  I  have  nothing  to  complain  of,  nor  have  you  ;  Prov¬ 
idence  has  singularly  taken  care  of  us  both,  and,  by  compensation,  keeps 
the  balance  even.’ 

“  He  then  spoke  with  entire  calmness  of  the  shock  which  his  system 
nad  received  from  his  first  stroke  of  apoplexy  last  year ;  said  that  it  hud 
weakened  him  a  good  deal ;  but  he  was  very  grateful  that  he  was  able  to 
take  exercise,  although  confined  to  a  spare  diet,  and  not  allowed  to  touch 
meat  or  anything  of  a  stimulative  kind ;  and  managed,  moreover,  to  keep 
up  his  literary  labors.  ‘  I  have  always  made  my  literary  pursuits,’  he  said, 
a  pleasure  rather  than  a  toil ;  and  hope  to  do  so  with  the  remainder  of 
“  Philip,”  as  I  am  yet  able  to  work  two  or  three,  and  sometimes  more, 
hours  a  day.’  He  stated  that  his  eye  had  suffered  considerably  from  the 
blow,  and,  while  we  talked,  he  found  it  necessary  to  shade  his  face.  In 
the  course  of  the  conversation  we  were  joined  by  the  ladies  of  the  family, 
Mrs.  Prescott,  her  sister,  his  daughter,  and  daughter-in-law.  He  then 
spoke  in  glowing  and  grateful  terms,  as  I  alluded  to  the  interest  taken  in 
his  health  throughout  the  country,  of  the  kindness  which  he  had  invariably 
experienced  at  the  hands  of  his  countrymen.  ‘  I  can  never,’  he  said,  ‘  be 
sufficiently  grateful  for  the  tokens  of  esteem,  regard,  and  affection,  which 
I  have  had  from  them  through  all  the  years  of  my  literary  career.  True, 
it  makes  me  feel  like  an  old  man  to  see  my  fifteen  volumes  upon  the  shelf, 
but  my  heart  is  as  young  as  it  ever  was  to  enjoy  the  love  which  the  coun¬ 
try  has  ever  shown  me.’  When  I  said  it  was  a  cheering  thing  for  a  man 
to  know  he  had  given  so  much  happiness  as  he  had  done  by  his  books,  he 
said  that  it  was  his  yw a  truest  happiness  to  trust  that  he  had  been  able  to 
confer  it.  He  said  he  hoped  to  live  to  finish  ‘  Philip,’  which  was  now 
three  fifths  done.  As  I  bade  him  good  by,  I  said,  ‘God  bless  you,  Mr. 
Prescott ;  I  know  I  breathe  the  prayer  of  the  country  when  I  say,  May 
your  life  be  spared  for  many  years,  to  add  volume  after  volume  to  the 
fifteen.’  He  rejoined,  ‘  My  greatest  delight  is  the  love  of  my  friends  and 
their  appreciation  of  my  labors.’ 

“  Little  did  I  think  that  the  hand  which  so  warmly  grasped  mine  as  he 
led  me  down  the  stairs  would,  ere  eight  and  forty  hours  were  past,  be  cold 
and  stiff  in  death.  Peace  to  the  memory  of  one  of  the  sweetest  and  noblest 
men  that  ever  lived  ! 

“  Yours  very  truly, 


“William  H.  Milbubh.” 


APPENDIX  G 


ON  HIS  DEATH. 

SOON  after  Mr.  Prescott’s  death  I  received  many  notes  and  letters, 
expressive  of  affection  and  admiration  for  him.  From  among  them 
I  select  the  following. 

The  first  is  by  Mr.  George  Lunt,  who  was  his  secretary  in  1825—6, 
and  knew  him  well.  See  ante,  p.  78. 


ON  A  LATE  LOSS. 

Imitation  of  Horace,  Lib.  L  Od.  XXIV. 

Quia  desiderio  ait  pudor,  ka. 

What  time  can  bring  relief — 

What  blame  reprove  our  grief  ? 

The  well-beloved  lies  low  1 
The  funeral  strains  prolong, 

0  Muse  of  tragic  song, 

With  liquid  voice  and  harp  attuned  to  wool 

Does,  then,  perpetual  sleep 
Hold  him?  and  bid  us  weep 

In  vain  to  seek  through  earth 
For  honor  so  unstained, 

Such  manly  truth  maintained, 

Such  glory  won  and  worn  by  modest  worth? 

By  all  the  good  deplored, 

No  tears  sincerer  poured, 

Than  fell  thine  own,  0  friend ! 

Yet  pious  thou  in  vain, 

Claiming  for  earth  again 

Gifts,  which  kind  Heaven  on  no  such  terms  will  lend. 

No  fond  desires  avail, 

Friendship’s  deep  want  must  fail, 

Even  love’s  devout  demand; 

Inexorable  Death, 

Pledges  of  deathless  faith. 

Keeps  souls  once  gathered  to  the  shadowy  land. 

And  oftenest  to  that  bourne 
They  pass,  nor  more  return,  — 

The  best  we  miss  the  most; 

Hard  seems  the  stroke  of  fate, 

But  Heaven  bids  us  wait, 

And  there,  at  last,  rejoin  the  loved,  the  lost. 


ON  HIS  DEATH. 


445 


Auother  short  poem  came  anonymously  to  my  door,  but  was  afterwards 
ascertained  to  have  been  written  by  the  Rev.  George  Richards,  then  a 
clergyman  of  Boston.  It  was  founded  upon  some  remarks  made  by  me 
at  the  meeting  of  the  Historical  Society,  February  1st,  on  the  occasion  of 
Mr.  Prescott’s  death,  concerning  his  wish,  that,  previous  to  their  final  de- 
posit  in  the  house  appointed  for  all  living,  his  remains  might  rest  for  a 
time  in  his  library,  under  the  shadow,  as  it  were,  of  the  books  he  had  so 
much  loved ;  the  remarks  being  nearly  the  same  with  those  abouA  the 
same  circumstance  in  the  account  given,  at  page  414,  cf  his  last  days 
burial. 

Mr.  Richards  entitled  his  poem 


THE  HISTORIAN  IN  HIS  LIBRARY. 


His  wish  fulfilled !  ’T  is  done,  as  he  had  said : 

Borne  sadly  back,  with  slow  and  reverent  tread ;  — 

Now  closeted,  —  the  dead  with  kindred  dead. 

Ye  need  not  listen,  — no  low- whispered  word 
From  that  hushed  conclave  will  be  overheard; 

Nor  start, — as  if  the  shrouded  sleeper  stirred. 

He  rests,  where  he  hath  toiled :  the  busy  pen 
Misses  the  busier  brain ;  nor  plods,  as  when 
It  traced  the  lore  of  that  far-searching  ken. 

He  lies  amid  his  peers ;  the  storied  great 
Look  down  upon  him,  here  reclined  in  state,  — 

As  mute  as  they  who  speechless  round  him  wait. 

His  task  is  done;  his  working-day  is  o’er; 

The  morning  larum  wakens  him  no  more,  — 

Unheard  its  summons,  on  that  silent  shore. 

The  pomp  of  Kings,  the  Incas’  faded  pride, 

The  freighted  bark,  the  lonely  ocean  wide. 

Dread  war,  glad  peace,  no  more  his  thoughts  divide. 

He  lies,  like  warrior,  after  set  of  sun, 

Stretched  on  the  plain  where  his  great  deeds  weie  done. 

Where  he  the  green,  immortal  garland  won. 

Bound  him  the  relics  of  the  hard-fought  field, 

Helmet  and  lance  and  unavailing  shield, 

And  well-proved  blade  he  never  more  shall  wield. 

So  leave  him,  for  a  while,  in  that  still  room, 

His  books  among;  —  its  sober,  twilight  gloom 
Fit  prelude  to  the  stiller,  darker  tomb. 

The  last  of  these  tokens  that  I  shall  cite  is  from  one  of  the  most  faithful 
and  valued  of  his  English  friends.  It  is 


446 


APPENDIX. 


FROM  DEAN  MILMAN. 

Deanery,  St.  Paul’s,  February  19th,  [1859] 
My  dear  Mr.  Ticknor, 

I  must  unburden  myself  to  some  one  of  the  profound  sorrow  which  1 
(I  should  have  written  we)  feel  for  our  irreparable  loss.  I  have  had  the 
happiness  to  form  and  retain  the  friendship  of  many  excellent  men;  no 
one  has  ever,  considering  the  short  personal  intercourse  which  I  enjoyed 
with  him,  and  our  but  occasional  correspondence,  wakened  such  strong 
and  lasting  attachment.  He  found  his  way  at  once  to  my  heart,  and  has 
there  remained,  and  ever  will  remain,  during  the  brief  period  to  which  I 
can  now  look  forward,  as  an  object  of  the  warmest  esteem  and  affection. 
I  think  I  should  have  loved  the  man  if  I  had  only  known  him  as  an 
author ;  his  personal  society  only  showed  his  cordial,  liberal,  gentle  char¬ 
acter  in  a  more  distinct  and  intimate  form.  That  which  was  admiration 
oecame  love.  There  is  here  but  one  feeling,  among  those  who  had  not 
the  good  fortune  to  know  him,  as  among  those  who  knew  him  best,  — 
deep  regret  for  a  man  who  did  honor  to  the  literature  of  our  common  lan¬ 
guage,  and  whose  writings,  from  their  intrinsic  charm  and  excellence,  were 
most  popular,  without  any  art  or  attempt  to  win  popularity. 

The  suddenness  of  the  blow  aggravates  its  heaviness.  I  had  written  to 
him  but  a  few  weeks  ago,  (I  doubt  not  that  he  received  my  letter,)  ex¬ 
pressing  the  common  admiration  with  which  his  last  volume  was  received 
here  by  all  whose  opinion  he  and  his  most  discerning  friends  would  think 
of  the  highest  value.  In  one  respect  he  has  ended  well,  for  he  never  sur¬ 
passed  passages  in  the  last  volume ;  but  it  is  sad  to  think  that  he  has 
ended,  and  left  his  work  incomplete.  I  can  hardly  hope  that  much  can 
be  left  finished  by  his  hand ;  if  anything  is  left,  I  trust  it  will  pass  into 
the  hand  of  him  best  qualified  to  shape  and  mould  it  into  form,  yourself. 
As  I  feel  that  I  can  express  our  sorrows  to  no  one  so  fitly  as  to  you,  so 
there  is  no  one  to  whom  the  sacred  memory  of  our  friend  can  be  intrusted 
with  equal  confidence.  From  all  that  I  have  heard,  his  end  (premature 
as  our  affection  cannot  but  think  it)  was  painless  and  peaceful ;  and  if  — 
as  surely  we  may  trust  —  the  possession  and  the  devotion  of  such  admi¬ 
rable  gifts  to  their  best  uses,  —  the  promotion  of  knowledge,  humanity, 
charity,  in  its  widest  sense  ;  if  a  life,  I  fully  believe,  perfectly  blameless, 
the  discharge  of  all  domestic  duties  so  as  to  secure  the  tenderest  attach¬ 
ment  of  all  around  ;  if  a  calm,  quiet,  gentle,  tolerant  faith  will  justify  — 
as  no  doubt  they  may  —  our  earnest  hopes  ;  it  is  that  better  peace  which 
has  no  end. 

Both  Mrs.  Milman  and  I  trust  you  will  undertake  the  friendly  office  of 
communicating  our  common  sorrow  to  those  whose  sorrow  must  be  more 
pungent  than  ours,  though,  I  venture  to  say,  not  more  sincere.  We  shall 
always  think  with  warm  interest  of  all  those  who  bear  the  honored  name 
of  Prescott,  or  were  connected  by  ties  of  kindred  or  affection  with  him. 
And  permit  me  to  add  to  yourself  our  kindest  condolence,  our  best  wishes 
and  our  hopes  that  we  may  see  you  again,  and  soon,  in  Europe. 

Believe  me,  my  dear  Mr.  Ticknor, 

Ever  your  sincere  friend, 

H.  II.  Milman 


INDEX 


Aflr*. 

<5/  ' 

*«/ .  J  ‘ 


INDEX 


Abbotsford,  visit  to,  307. 

Adams,  J.  Q.,  library,  8;  Minister 
in  London,  41 ;  on  the  “  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella,”  217  note. 

*’■  ms,  Sir  W.,  40. 

’Siz,  L.,  394,  410,  441. 

a.  ..iaji,  Lucas,  400,  407. 

Albany,  visit  to,  247. 

AlbIri,  E.,  252,  346  note. 

Alfikri,  V.,  Life,  219. 

Allison,  Sir  A.,  296,  311. 

Allen,  John,  113  and  note. 

Allston,  Washington,  63,  327. 

Al-Makkari,  translated,  172. 

Alnwick  Castle,  visit  to,  303  -  308. 

Amadis  de  Gaula,  9,  69  note. 

American  Academy  of  Arts  and  Sci¬ 
ences,  415. 

American  Antiquarian  Society,  415. 

Americanisms,  212  note. 

American  Stationers’  Company,  99. 

Ames,  Joseph,  portrait  of  Prescott, 
216. 

Amory,  Mrs.  Charles,  278. 

Amory,  Susan,  wife  of  Mr.  Prescott, 
50.  See  also  Prescott,  Susan. 

Amory,  Thomas  C.,  50. 

I  ory,  William,  278,  429. 

Antwerp,  visit  to,  301. 

Apcplexy,  Mr.  Prescott’s  first  attack, 
3LS;  his  own  views  of  it,  397,  403, 
404,  405,  407 ;  second  attack  fatal, 
412,413. 

Arabs  in  Spain,  Gayangos  on,  171. 

Archives  du  Royaume,  342,  343. 

Argyll,  Duke  of,  visit  to,  311;  Ad¬ 
dress  of,  330. 

Armada,  documents  for,  252. 

Ascham,  Roger,  66. 

Ascot  Races,  286,  287. 

Asfinwall,  Colonel  Thomas,  rela¬ 
tions  with  Mr.  Prescott,  103,  230, 
248,  384;  letters  to,  224,  230,  249. 

Asylum  for  the  Blind,  234  -  236. 

Athenaeum.  See  Boston  Athenaeum. 

Bancroft,  George,  relations  with 
Mr.  Prescott,  93  and  note,  337  ; 


on  the  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,” 
88,  104,  338;  letters  from  Mr.  Pres¬ 
cott  to,  93,  336,  337,  338,  354,  355, 
403 ;  History  of  the  United  States, 
333,  337,  354,  355,  403,  406. 

Beacon  Street  home,  244. 

Bedford  Street  home,  50,  243,  244, 
364. 

Belgium,  visit  to,  300,  303,  323. 

Bell,  Sir  Charles,  127  note. 

Benavides,  195. 

Bentinck,  Lord  William,  387. 

Bentley,  R.,  publishes  for  Mr.  Pres¬ 
cott  in  London,  104,  111  note,  230, 
231,  248. 

Berlin,  Royal  Society  of,  Mr.  Prescott 
elected  into,  223. 

Bernaldes,  Andres,  Chronicle,  82. 

Berry,  Miss,  note  of,  319. 

Bigelow,  T.,  246  note. 

Biographical  and  Critical  Miscella¬ 
nies,  230-237. 

Biot,  on  Humboldt,  156. 

Blindness,  remarks  on,  235. 

Bliss,  Alexander,  of  the  Club,  52 
note. 

Bonds  to  induce  work.  See  Wagers. 

Books  not  easily  obtained,  8. 

Boston  Athenaeum,  8,  415. 

Boston,  Prescott  homes  in,  364. 

Boston  Public  Library,  444. 

Bowditch,  Nathaniel,  5. 

Brazer,  John,  of  the  Club,  62  note 

Bradford,  Samuel  D.,  24. 

Bridgman,  Laura,  235. 

British  Museum,  170,  179. 

Brougham,  Lord,  209  and  note  ; 
manners  in  the  House  of  Lords,  292. 

Brown,  Charles  Brockden,  Life 
of,  234. 

Brussels,  visit  to,  800. 

Buckle,  T.,  History  of  Civilization, 
398,  406. 

Bulwer,  Sir  Henry  Lytton,  278. 

Bunker  Hill  Battle,  403,  404,  422. 

Bunsen,  C.,  Prussian  Minister  in 
London,  292. 

Byron,  Lord,  88,  173. 

CO 


450 


INDEX. 


Calderon,  Don  Angel,  153,  187, 1 
278. 

Calderon,  Madame,  Travels  in 
Mexico,  237 ;  letter  to,  406. 

Cane  presented  to  Mr.  Prescott,  351. 

Capponi,  the  Marquis  Gino,  175 
and  note,  253,  340,  346,  347,  439. 

Carlisle,  Dowager  Lady,  231,  313, 
393 

Carlisle,  Earl  op,  letters  from,  257, 
385;  letters  to,  327,  328,  329,  330, 
332,  407 ;  kindness  to  Mr.  Prescott 
in  London,  281,  289;  at  Naworth 
Castle,  312;  at  Castle  Howard,  312 
sqq.;  Lectures  of,  328.  See  also 
Morpeth,  Viscount. 

Carlos,  Don,  178,  362. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  299,  339. 

Carter,  Robert,  Secretary  to  Mr. 
Prescott,  77  note;  on  Mr.  Prescott’s 
charities,  149,  150. 

Cary’s  Dante,  64. 

Cervantes,  Review  of,  236. 

Chambers.  Rebellion  of  1745,  176. 

Channing,  Rev.  W.  E.,  Sermon 
to  Children,  4;  on  the  “  Ferdi¬ 
nand  and  Isabella,”  114 ;  his  style, 
209. 

Charles  the  Fifth  at  Yuste,  251; 
at  St.  Gudule,  300;  Mr.  Prescott 
urged  to  write  his  history,  348;  de¬ 
clines,  but  writes  the  account  of 
his  life  at  Yuste,  378,  379. 

Chatsworth,  visit  to,  318. 

Cherry-tree  at  Lynn,  373,  374  and 
note. 

Chevalier,  Michel,  on  the  “  His¬ 
tory  of  the  Conquest  of  Mexico,” 
227. 

Christianity,  examination  of  its  truth 
by  Mr.  Prescott,  86;  re-examina¬ 
tion,  154. 

Circourt,  Count  Adolphe  de,  on 
the  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  106 
and  note,  112 ;  his  Essays  and  Re¬ 
views,  226 ;  letter  to,  389. 

Classical  Studies  of  Mr.  Prescott,  6, 
9,  16,  23,  24,  26,  43,  65. 

Clemencin,  Diego  de,  on  Isabella 
the  Catholic,  91,  271. 

Club-room,  a  periodical,  53,  64. 

Club  to  which  Mr.  Prescott  belonged, 
62-54. 

Cogswell,  Joseph  G.,  157  note;  on 
the  “  Conquest  of  Mexico,”  193. 

College  Life,  Mr.  Prescott’s  remarks 
on,  25  note. 

Columbus,  222  and  note;  Irving’s 
Life  of  176. 

Conde,  History  of  the  Arabs,  88. 

Cooper,  Sir  Astley,  40. 


Copyright,  international,  166,  377. 

Corneille,  Pierre,  57,  236  note. 

CortIss,  Fernando,  portrait  of,  177; 
character,  201. 

Critical  and  Historical  Essays,  230- 
239. 

Crossed  Swords,  the,  51,  430. 

Curtis,  George  T.,  on  the  “  Con¬ 
quest  of  Mexico,”  193;  on  Mr. 
Prescott’s  style,  211. 

Dane,  Nathan,  424. 

Dante,  61  -  64. 

Daponte,  Lorenzo,  controversy,  232, 
233. 

Davidson,  Margaret,  Irving’s  Life 
of,  176. 

Dawson,  George  A.  F.,  of  the  Club, 
52  note. 

Dexter,  Elizabeth,  sister  of  the 
historian,  427.  See  also  Prescott, 
Elizabeth. 

Dexter,  Franklin,  of  the  Club,  62 
note;  contributions  to  the  Club- 
Room,  53;  notice  of,  427. 

Dlaz,  Bernal,  201. 

Dionysius  of  Halicarnassus,  on 
Plato,  142  note. 

Dummer  Academy,  6,  423. 

Dunham,  Dr.,  on  the  “  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella,”  105. 

Earthquake  at  St.  Michael’s,  34. 

Edgeworth,  Maria,  on  “  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella,”  178;  letter  from,  253-, 
her  fictions,  367,  398. 

Edie  Ochiltree,  369  and  note. 

Edinburgh  Review,  mistake  about 
Mr.  Prescott’s  blindness,  249,  251. 

Elgin  Marbles,  41. 

Eliot,  Samuel  A.,  of  the  Club,  62 
note. 

Eliot,  William  H.,  of  the  Club,  52 
note. 

Ellesmere,  Earl,  visit  from,  876; 
letter  from,  387. 

Ellis,  Rev.  Rufus,  415  note. 

Ellis,  Rev.  Dr.  George  E.,  143 
note. 

England,  first  visits  to,  40  -  42,  44,  46 ; 
proposes  to  go  again,  184;  visit 
there,  279-320  ;  society,  285,  292, 
298,  309  ;  hospitality,  292,  295; 
country  life,  303-318,  323;  rela¬ 
tions  with  the  United  States,  331 ; 
character,  319,  320,  355,  442;  in¬ 
tolerance,  320,  395. 

English,  James  L.,  Secretary  to  Mr. 
Prescott,  77,  81;  on  Mr.  Prescott’s 
modes  of  work,  82,  83;  bonds  with 
him,  137. 


INDEX. 


451 


Entertainments  at  Harvard  College 
Commencements,  25. 

Essex  Institute,  415. 

Everett,  Alexander  H.,  letter  to, 
73;  aids  Mr.  Prescott,  18]. 

Everett,  Edward,  aids  Mr.  Pres¬ 
cott,  178,  268;  relations  with  him, 
335;  letters  to,  341,  344,  349,  351; 
letters  from,  298,  342,  343,  347 ; 
lecture  on  Peru,  342;  on  Washing¬ 
ton,  406. 

Eye,  injury  to  Mr.  Prescott’s,  18  -  20 ; 
severe  attack  of  rheumatism  in,  26 
-29;  sutlers  in  St.  Michael’s,  32; 
state  of,  when  in  England,  41;  in 
Italy,  43;  in  Paris,  43;  influence  on 
his  character,  115,  116,  120;  never 
to  be  depended  on,  122  and  note; 
premature  decay  of,  122;  hardly 
used  at  all,  123;  always  anxious 
about,  125,  127 ;  best  condition  of, 
182;  infirmity  of,  connected  with 
style,  213,  214;  increased  trouble, 
246 ;  very  bad  condition,  247 ;  mis¬ 
takes  of  Edinburgh  Review  about, 
249,250;  Miss  Edgeworth  on,  253  ; 
increasing  infirmity,  262,  263,  273, 
324;  never  permanently  blind,  352. 

Earrk,  Dr.,  London,  40. 

Eaukiel,  Charles,  112. 

Felton,  Cornelius  C.,  Editor  of 
Lord  Carlisle’s  Diary,  385,  386. 

“Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  thought 
of  as  a  subject  for  history,  70,  71, 
72,  73;  materials  for,  collected,  74; 
book  written,  78  -  95  ;  four  copies 
privately  printed,  96 ;  doubts  about 
publishing,  96  ;  published,  97 ;  suc¬ 
cess,  108  -  114  ;  anxiety  about, 
161;  Ford’s  letter  on,  179;  his  re¬ 
view  of,  208,  sqq. ;  threatened 
abridgment,  185. 

Ferguson,  Adam,  398,  406. 

Fisher,  Dr.  John  D.,  asylum  for  the 
blind,  234. 

Florence,  visit  to,  345. 

Folsom,  Charles,  of  the  Club,  52 
note;  corrects  Mr.  Prescott’s  writ¬ 
ings,  99,  143  and  note,  199,  211  and 
note,  399. 

Ford,  Richard,  his  review  of  “  Fer¬ 
dinand  and  Isabella,”  106,  113.  206, 
207,  339 ;  Mr.  Thomas  Grenville  on 
it,  198;  Handbook  of  Mr.  Ford, 
251 ;  letter  from,  179 ;  letter  to,  325. 

France,  visits  to,  42,  43,  300. 

Freeman,  Rev.  James,  381  note. 

Frisbie,  L.,  Professor,  13. 

Frothingham,  Rev.  Dr.  N.  L.,  on 
Mr.  Prescott’s  character,  29 ;  poem 


on  “  The  Crossed  Swords,”  431, 
432. 

Furnace,  the,  at  St.  Michael’s,  35. 

Gachard  on  Charles  V.,  378;  on 
Philip  II.,  389. 

Gallatin,  Albert,  letter  from,  195. 

Gardiner,  Rev.  Dr.  John  S.  J 
school  of,  6,  7,  242  note. 

Gardiner,  William  Howard,  friend 
of  Mr.  Prescott,  10  - 12 ;  on  Mr. 
Prescott’s  habit  of  making  resolu¬ 
tions,  16-18;  on  his  involuntary 
laughter,  22 ;  letters  to,  36,  45 ;  reads 
classics  with  Mr.  Prescott,  48;  of 
the  Club,  52  note;  account  of  the 
Club,  54  note ;.  Latin  ode  to,  116 ; 
revises  the  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabel¬ 
la,”  97,  101;  reviews  it,  104,  109; 
on  Mr.  Prescott’s  social  character, 
129-131;  on  his  mathematics,  184 
note;  on  his  Pepperell  farm,  370 
note;  last  dinner  with  him,  383. 

Gayangos,  Pascual  de,  review  of 
the  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,”  106, 
113;  materials  for  the  Conquest  of 
Peru,  261;  for  Philip  II.,  251,  255, 
267-270;  letters  to,  170,  172,  175, 
178,  194,  195,  196,  227,  251,  252, 

255. 

German  instruction,  difficult  to  ob¬ 
tain,  8. 

German  studies  not  undertaken  by 
Mr.  Prescott,  65. 

Gibbon,  Autobiography,  70  note; 
habits  of  composition,  141  note. 

Gonsalvo  de  Cordova,  manuscripts 
of,  175  and  note. 

Gray,  Francis  Calley,  gift  to  Har¬ 
vard  College,  410;  character,  441, 
442. 

Gray,  John  Chipman,  friend  of  Mr. 
Prescott,  17;  travels  with  him,  42; 
of  the  Club,  52  note. 

Greenough,  Richard  S.,  bust  of 
Mr.  Prescott,  216. 

Greenwood,  Francis  W.  P.,  of  the 
Club,  52  note ;  reviews  the  “  Fer¬ 
dinand  and  Isabella,”  104. 

Grenville,  Thomas,  198. 

Guicciardini,  Pietro,  347. 

Guizot,  Franqois,  112,  119  note, 
378. 

Hale,  Dr.  Enoch,  of  the  Club,  62 
note. 

Hallam,  Henry,  on  the  “  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella,”  113;  on  Mr.  Pres¬ 
cott’s  style,  211 ;  letters  from,  197 

256,  388. 

Hamilton,  John  C.,  letter  to,  200. 


ib'2 


INDEX. 


Hampton  Court,  visit  to,  282. 

Ham’s  Hall,  visit  to,  303. 

Harper  and  Brothers  publish  the 
“  Conquest  of  Mexico,”  190 ;  the 
“  Miscellanies,”  231 ;  the  “  Conquest 
of  Peru,”  218;  their  establishment 
burnt,  361;  regard  for  them,  441. 

Hartford  Convention,  425. 

Harvard  College,  Mr.  Prescott  enters, 
12;  life  there,  15-25;  his  honors 
there,  23,  24,  415. 

Hayward,  George,  223. 

Head,  Sir  Edmund,  384. 

Hickling,  Thomas,  Maternal  grand¬ 
father  to  Mr.  Prescott,  Consul  at 
St.  Michael’s,  29,  427 ;  visit  to  him, 
31-39. 

Higginson,  Mehitable,  2. 

Hillard,  George  S.,  on  the  “  Ferdi¬ 
nand  and  Isabella,”  108;  on  the 
“Conquest  of  Mexico,”  193;  his 
“  Six  Months  in  Italy,”  339  and 
note,  360. 

Historical  judgment,  standard  for, 

200. 

Historical  Society  of  Massachusetts, 
bequest  to,  51,  *430. 

Holland,  excursion  in,  301-303. 

Holland,  Lord,  on  the  “  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella,”  112,  113. 

Holland,  Sir  Henry,  323,  327. 

Homes  of  the  Prescott  family,  2,  47, 
60  and  note,  364-374. 

Horace,  imitation  of,  444. 

Horner,  L.,  visit  to,  282. 

Howard  Castle,  visit  to,  312-316. 

Howard,  Lady  Mary,  312,  313,  314, 
317.  See  also  Labouchere,  Lady 
Mary. 

Howards,  family  of,  289,  317. 

Howe,  Dr.  Samuel  G.,  labors  for  the 
blind,  235. 

Hughes,  Archbishop,  on  the  “  Ferdi¬ 
nand  and  Isabella,”  217. 

Humboldt,  Alexander  von,  opin¬ 
ion  of,  165,  183;  on  the  “  Conquest 
of  Mexico,”  221,  225  ;  assists  Mr. 
Prescott,  268 ;  Mr.  Prescott’s  desire 
to  see  him,  384. 

Illinois  Historical  Society,  415. 

Indian  Summer,  380  and  note. 

Institute,  French,  Mr.  Prescott  elect¬ 
ed  a  corresponding  member,  222- 
224. 

Irving,  Pierre  M.,  Life  of  Wash¬ 
ington  Irving,  162,  163  and  note. 

Irving,  Washington,  Conquest  of 
Granada,  89,  237 ;  correspondence 
with  about  the  “  Conquest  of  Mexi¬ 
co,”  168  -  163  ;  about  copyright, 


166;  his“  Sketch-Book,”  167  ;  “  Co¬ 
lumbus,”  176;  “Memoir  of  Mar¬ 
garet  Davidson,”  176;  style,  182, 
208;  going  Minister  to  Spain,  188; 
on  Christmas,  361;  letters  from, 
394,  409. 

Italian  poetry,  reviews  of,  231,  233. 

Italian  studies,  68-64,  71,  72. 

Italy,  travels  in,  42,  43. 

Jackson,  Dr.  James,  friend  and 
medical  adviser  of  Mr.  Prescott; 
on  the  original  injury  to  his  eye, 
18  and  note;  on  the  subsequent 
severe  inflammation,  27-29;  on  his 
first  attack  of  apoplexy,  396;  on 
the  second  and  fatal  one,  413;  let¬ 
ter  on  Mr.  Prescott’s  illnesses,  18 
note. 

Johnson,  Samuel,  on  Addison’s  style, 
208  and  note  ;  on  the  blindness  of 
Milton,  74. 

Jonson,  Ben,  67. 

Kenyon,  JonN,  239,  295. 

King,  Charles,  44  note. 

Kirk,  John  Foster,  Secretary  to, 
Mr.  Prescott,  78  note,  281,  298,  412. 

Kirkland,  John  T.,  13  note. 

Knapp,  Jacob  Newman,  3. 

Kossuth,  333. 

Labouchere,  Lady  Mary,  letter  to, 
393.  See  also  Howard,  Lady  Mary. 

Lamartine,  A.,  106. 

Latin  Christianity,  by  Dean  Milman, 
362. 

Laura  of  Petrarch,  69  -  61. 

Lawrence,  Abbott,  Minister  in  Lon¬ 
don,  281  ;  at  Alnwick  Castle,  306  ; 
illness  and  death,  383,  386,  387  ; 
Life  of,  by  Mr.  Prescott,  380  and 
note  ;  Lord  Ellesmere  on,  387. 

Lawrence  Elizabeth,  daughter  of 
Mr.  Prescott,  and  her  children,  382, 
429.  See  also  Prescott.  Elizabeth. 

Lawrence,  James,  married  to  Miss 
Prescott,  330,  331,  334 ;  villa  at 
Lynn,  386  ;  meeting  about  a  zo¬ 
ological  museum  at  his  house,  410. 

Lebanon  Springs,  189. 

Lembke,  Dr.  W.  F.,  collects  materi¬ 
als  for  Mr.  Prescott’s  histories,  161 
and  note,  181,  266,  267. 

Leopold,  King  of  Belgium,  301. 

Linzee,  Capt.  John,  grandfather  of 
Mrs.  W.  H.  Prescott,  51,  430. 

Literarv  honors  received  by  Mr.  Pres¬ 
cott,  436,  437. 

Literary  loafing,  121  note,  189,  190. 

Livy,  i75. 


INDEX. 


453 


Lockhart,  John  G.,  on  the  “  Fer¬ 
dinand  and  Isabella,”  113  ;  Mr. 
Prescott’s  review  of  his  Life  of 
Scott,  154,  237  ;  first  meeting  with, 
282  note  ;  letter  from,  327 ;  death, 
384. 

Longman  &  Co.,  103,  113  note. 

Loring,  Charles  G.,  of  the  Club,  52 
note,  143  note. 

Lunt,  George,  Secretary  to  Mr. 
Prescott,  78  note;  imitation  of 
Horace  on  his  death,  444. 

Lyell,  Sir  Charles,  first  visit  to 
the  United  States,  194  and  note  ; 
second,  359  and  note ;  third,  360, 
375  ;  first  greeting  of  Mr.  Prescott 
in  London,  281;  Mr.  Prescott’s  re¬ 
gard  for,  298;  letters  to,  390,  410. 

Lyell,  Lady,  letters  to,  257,  281 
note,  321,  322,  334,  359,  360,  361, 
362,  363,  383,  384,  386,  393,  394, 
404,  405,  408 ;  last  words  about, 
442. 

Lynn,  villa  at,  373 ;  life  there,  376. 

Mably,  Etude  de  l’Histoire,  70,  90 
and  note. 

Macaulay,  habits  of  composition, 
294;  in  society,  298;  his  History, 
331,  388,  389;  letter  from,  409. 

Mackintosh,  Sir  James,  211,  239. 

Mahon.  Lord  (Earl  of  Stanhope), 
history  of  Europe,  333. 

Marsh,  George  P.,  on  style  and 
composition,  142  note,  212  note. 

Maryland  Historical  Society,  415. 

Mason,  William  Powell,  early 
friend  of  Mr.  Prescott,  14;  of  the 
Club,  52  note. 

Massachusetts  Convention  on  the 
Constitution,  426. 

Massachusetts  Historical  Society  on 
Mr.  Prescott’s  death,  415;  proceed¬ 
ings  on  the  Crossed  Swords,  430, 
431. 

Memoirs,  private,  and  private  letters, 
value  for  history,  179,  195. 

Memoranda,  Mr.  Prescott’s  private, 
139,  164,  400. 

Mexico,  History  of  the  Conquest  of, 
materials  for,  collected,  155,  156, 
167,  181;  correspondence  about, 
with  Mr.  Irving,  157  -  163 ;  plan  of, 
182;  begins  to  write  it,  182;  Intro¬ 
duction,  183;  work  completed,  189 
and  note ;  published,  191  ;  great 
success,  192;  English  edition,  192; 
his  own  thoughts  on,  193,  199;  a 
solace  to  the  suffering,  225;  cor¬ 
rected,  399,  400 ;  translations  of, 
400,  438,  439,  440^ 


Middleton,  Arthur,  ear'v  friend  of 
Mr.  Prescott,  12;  assists  nim  in  col¬ 
lecting  materials  for  his  histories, 
181,  266;  family  of,  280. 

Mignet  on  the  “  Ferdinand  and  Isa¬ 
bella,”  112;  on  the  election  of  Mr. 
Prescott  into  the  Institute,  223 ;  ma¬ 
terials  for  Philip  II.,  207,  342;  on 
Charles  V.,  378. 

Milburn,  the  Rev.  Wm.  H.,  on  Mr. 
Prescott,  441. 

Miller,  General,  172  and  note. 

Milman,  the  Rev.  H.  H.,  on  “Fer¬ 
dinand  and  Isabella.”  113;  review 
of  the  “  Conquest  of  Mexico,”  193; 
acquaintance  with,  281 ;  regard  for, 
296,  29S;  on  Mr.  Prescott’s  style, 
211,  446;  letters  to,  200,  322,  362; 
letters  from,  202,  391;  Mr.  Pres¬ 
cott's  last  words  about,  442 ;  letter 
on  Mr.  Prescott’s  death,  446. 

Mii.man,  Mrs.,  letters  to,  330,  360, 
388. 

Milnes,  R.  Monckton,  288. 

Milton,  blindness,  19  ;  prose  stvle, 

66. 

MoliUjre,  57 ;  proposed  Life  of,  151, 
152,  153,  154,  155;  Review  of,  236. 

Montaigne,  67. 

Moody,  Master,  6,  423. 

Morpeth,  Viscount,  visit  to  Boston, 
186;  letters  from,  186,  199  ;  memo¬ 
randum  on,  188  ;  at  New  York,  349. 
See  also  Carlisle,  Earl  of. 

Morley,  Lady,  397. 

Motley,  J.  Lothrop,  relations  with 
Mr.  Prescott,  259-262. 

Murray,  John,  Senior,  declines  pub¬ 
lishing  the  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabel¬ 
la,”  104,  113  note. 

Murray,  John,  tbe  younger,  285 
note. 

Nahant,  cottage  and  life  at,  370-372. 

Napier,  McVey,  Editor  of  the  Edin¬ 
burgh  Review,  113;  on  Mr.  Pres¬ 
cott’s  blindness,  250. 

Navarrets,  Martin  Fernandez 
de,  assists  Mr.  Prescott,  152  and 
note,  166 ;  death  of,  224. 

Naworth  Castle,  visit  to,  311. 

Nepaulese  Princes,  282  note. 

New  England  Genealogical  Society 
415. 

New  York,  city  of,  visits  to,  163,  188 
216,  246. 

New  York  Historical  Society,  415. 

New  York,  State  of,  224. 

Niagara,  visit  to,  219 ;  painting  of,  328, 
329. 

Noctograph,  116-118,  142,  434 


454 


INDEX. 


North  American  Review,  articles  for, 
48.  87,  88,  238,  239. 

Northampton,  Lord,  290,  293. 

Northumberland,  Duke  of,  visit 
to,  303-308. 

Otis,  Edmund  B.,  Secretary  to  Mr. 
Prescott,  77  note,  217  note;  letter 
of,  433. 

Oxford,  Bishop  of,  visit  to,  290, 
291. 

Oxford  University,  doctorate  at,  292  - 
294. 

Palfrey,  John  Gorham,  of  the  Club, 

52  note. 

Paris,  visits  to,  42,  43,  300. 

Parke,  Baron  (Lord  Wensleydale), 
318  note. 

Parker,  Daniel,  44. 

Parker,  Hamilton,  Secretary  to  Mr. 
Prescott,  78  note. 

Parr,  Dr.  Samuel,  7. 

Parsons,  Professor  Theophilus, 
early  friend  of  Mr.  Prescott;  of  the 
Club,  52  note  ;  on  Mr.  Prescott’s 
social  character,  132  ;  on  his  con¬ 
versation,  356  ;  letter  to,  405. 

Pascal,  57. 

Peabody,  Augusta,  429. 

Peabody,  Jos.,  Salem  merchant,  6. 

Peele,  Sir  R.,  dinner,  284,  285  note; 
death,  297 ;  refusal  of  a  peerage,  309 ; 
his  papers,  310. 

Pennsylvania  Historical  Society,  415. 

Perkins,  Thomas  H.,  liberality  to 
the  Blind  Asylum,  234  and  note; 
resemblance  to  Wellington,  2S4  and 
note. 

Pepperell  farm,  description  of,  326; 
attachment  to,  360,  363  ;  life  at, 
366  -  369  ;  testamentary  dispositions 
respecting,  369,  370  and  note. 

Pepperell,  town  of,  settled  and  name, 
421. 

Peru,  History  of  the  Conquest  of,  be¬ 
gun,  216-218;  work  upon,  226,  241, 
243;  difficulties  with,  245,  246;  fin¬ 
ished,  247;  published,  248;  misgiv¬ 
ings  about,  and  success,  248,  249. 

Petrarch,  discussion  about,  69-61. 

Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society,  24  and  note; 
Mr.  Sumner’s  Oration  before,  353. 

Philip  II.,  business  habits  and  capa¬ 
city,  343,  344,  348;  letters  of,  in 
Paris,  344;  in  Florence,  347. 

Philip  II. ,  History  of,  materials  col¬ 
lected  for,  178,  179,  194,  196,  251; 
Mr.  Motley’s  letter  about,  259-261 ; 
Mr.  Prescott’s  difficulties,  262;  in¬ 
quiries  begun.  264;  arrangements, 
266  -  271  ;  doubts  about  form  of, 


273  ;  synopsis  of,  274  ;  begins  to 
write,  276;  memoirs,  277;  stopped 
by  failure  of  health,  279;  finishes 
volume  first  as  a  history  and  not  as 
memoirs,  324;  progress,  356,  359; 
finishes  second  volume,  376;  pub¬ 
lishes  the  two,  377 ;  their  success, 
377 ;  works  on  volume  third,  380, 
382;  finishes  it,  399;  publishes  it, 
407,  409. 

Phillips,  Charles,  173. 

Pickering.  John,  6;  on  the  “  Ferdi¬ 
nand  and  Isabella,”  96, 104;  Memoir 
of,  265. 

Pickering,  Octavius,  of  the  Club, 
52  note. 

Pickmans,  merchants,  5. 

Pizarro,  241 

Playfair,  Professor,  398  note. 

Plummer  Hall,  2. 

Polk,  President,  352 

Prescott  family,  419-429. 

Prescott,  Abigail,  grandmother  of 
the  historian,  421,  423. 

Prescott,  Benjamin,  ancestor  of  the 
historian,  420. 

Prescott,  Catharine  Greene, 
mother  of  the  historian,  notice  of, 
426,  427 ;  influence  on  her  son,  1,  2, 
6;  letters  to,  33,  38,  290;  son  never 
parted  from  her,  393;  illnesses,  111, 
334;  death,  358. 

Prescott,  Catharine  Hicklino, 
daughter  of  the  historian,  death,  85, 
86  and  note. 

Prescott,  Catharine  Elizabeth, 
sister  of  the  historian,  letter  to,  34  ; 
her  notices  of  him,  48;  her  mar¬ 
riage,  427.  See  also  Dexter,  Eliza¬ 
beth. 

Prescott,  Edward  Goldsborough, 
brother  of  the  historian,  death  of, 
218 ;  notice  of,  428,  429. 

Prescott,  Elizabeth,  aaaghter  of 
the  historian,  letters  to,  286,  302, 
303;  marriage,  330,  331,  334;  lives 
near  him,  386.  See  Lawrence,  Eliz¬ 
abeth. 

Prescott.  James,  ancestor  of  the  his¬ 
torian,  420. 

Prescott,  John,  first  emigrant  cf  tho 
family.  419. 

Prescott,  Jonas,  ancestor  of  the  his¬ 
torian,  420. 

Prescott.  Oliver,  father  and  son, 
420. 

Prescott,  Susan,  wife  of  the  histo¬ 
rian,  her  marriage,  49,  60;  notice 
of,  240;  letters  to,  282,  288,  295, 
297,  300,  311,  316. 

Prescott,  William,  grandfather  of 


INDEX. 


455 


the  historian,  letter  to  the  people 
of  Boston,  403  note;  commands  on 
Bunker  Hill,  51;  notice  of,  421- 
423. 

Prescott,  William,  father  of  the  his¬ 
torian,  notice  of,  423  -  427 ;  influ¬ 
ence  on  his  son,  5;  removal  from 
Salem  to  Boston,  6;  life  there,  6; 
letters  to,  13,  31, 33, 38;  illness,  190, 
191;  partial  recovery,  218;  death, 
220;  effects  on  his  son,  220,  223  and 
note,  227 ;  character,  228,  229,  243, 
245,  367. 

Prescott,  William  Hickllng. 

1796.  —  Birth,  1. 

1800-1803.  —  Early  education,  2,  3. 
1803  - 1811.  —  School-boy  life,  3  - 

11. 

1811-1814.  — College  life,  15-25; 
loss  of  his  left  eye,  18 ;  intends  to 
study  law,  26. 

1815.  —  Severe  disease  in  his  re¬ 
maining  eye,  26-29;  residence 
for  his  health  in  St.  Michael’s, 
31  —  39. 

1816,  1817.  —  Travels  in  England, 
France,  and  Italy,  and  return 
home,  40-46. 

1817,  1818.  —  Retired  life  at  home, 
48;  writes  his  first  article  for  a 
Review,  and  foils,  48. 

1818.  —  Gives  up  his  intention  to 
study  law,  49,  116. 

1820.  —  Is  married,  49,  50  ;  with 
some  friends  forms  a  Club,  52; 
“  The  Club-Room,”  64;  deter¬ 
mines  on  a  life  of  letters,  65. 

1821  - 1824.  —  Prepares  himself  for 
it,  56-66. 

1825.  —  First  Spanish  studies,  67  - 
69;  proposes  to  write  history  of 
some  sort,  70  -  77. 

1826.  —  Selects  “  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella”  for  his  subject,  72. 

1827  - 1837.  —  Writes  and  publishes 
it,  79-110. 

1837.  —  Thinks  of  wi  iting  a  Life  of 
Molifere,  151. 

1835  -  1843.  —  Prefers  the  “  Con¬ 
quest  of  Mexico,”  and  w’rites  and 
publishes  it,  181  -193. 

1844.  —  Publishes  a  volume  of  Mis¬ 
cellanies,  230  -239. 

1844  -  1847.  — Writes  and  publishes 
the  “  Conquest  of  Peru,”  216  - 
248. 

1844.  —  Death  of  his  father,  220; 
election  into  the  French  Institute 
and  the  Roval  Academy  of  Ber¬ 
lin,  222-224. 

1848.  —  Doubts  about  a  History  of 


Philip  II.,  262 ;  Memoir  of  Picker¬ 
ing,  265;  History  of  the  Conquest 
of  Mexico  under  General  Scott 
proposed  to  him,  272. 

1849.  —  Begins  History  of  Philip 
II.,  276. 

I860.  — -  Visit  to  England,  279  -  320. 

1851.  —  Goes  on  with  Philip  H., 
324. 

1852.  —  Death  of  his  mother,  358. 

1854-1855.  —  Finishes  and  pub 

lishes  first  two  volumes  of  Philip 
II.,  376,  377. 

1855  -  1856.  —  Addition  to  Robert¬ 
son’s  History  of  Charles  V.,  379. 

1856.  —  Memoir  of  Mr.  Lawrence, 
380. 

1857.  —  Failing  health,  381. 

1858.  —  First  apoplectic  attack, 
396  -  398  ;  finishes  the  third  vol¬ 
ume  of  Philip  II.,  399;  correctc 
“  Conquest  of  Mexico,”  400;  last 
residence  in  Pepperell,  400. 

1859.  —  Last  occupations,  402  ;  last 
letter,  410:  last  pleasures,  411; 
death,  412,  413  ;  funeral,  414,  415; 
public  sorrow,  415,  416. 

Prescott,  W.  H. 

Early  amusements,  3,  10-12;  reso¬ 
lutions  made  and  broken,  16,  17 ; 
indulgences  at  college,  18  ;  dis¬ 
like  of  mathematics,  21,  196  and 
note;  involuntary  fits  of  laugh¬ 
ter,  22;  likes  puns,  50  note;  per¬ 
sonal  appearance,  51;  death  of 
his  first  daughter,  85  ;  inquiries 
into  the  truth  of  Christianity,  86; 
Mably  and  Clemencin,  90,  91,  92 ; 
character,  habits,  and  modes  of 
work  influenced  by  the  infirmity 
in  his  sight,  115  - 128  ;  smokes 
moderately,  and  drinks  wine  by 
rule,  126;  social  character,  129- 
132;  early  determines  on  a  life 
of  labor,  133;  obstacles  and  ex¬ 
pedients  to  overcome  them,  134- 
139;  prepares  his  composition  in 
his  memory,  140-143  ;  moral 
supervision  of  his  character,  144, 
146;  much  relating  to  his  habits 
little  known,  145  -  147 ;  conver¬ 
sation  and  manners,  147,  148  ; 
charities  public  and  private,  148- 
150;  fresh  inquiries  into  the  truth 
of  Christianity,  164;  correspond¬ 
ence  with  Mr.  Irving,  157  -  163; 
threatened  abridgment  of  “  Fer¬ 
dinand  and  Isabella,”  184,  185; 
acquaintance  and  friendship  with 
Lord  Morpeth,  186  -  188  ;  his 
style,  and  how  he  formed  it,  208  - 


456 


INDEX. 


215  ;  death  of  his  brother  Ed¬ 
ward,  218;  death  of  his  father, 
220,  221  ;  elected  into  the  French 
Institute  and  the  Royal  Academy 
of  Berlin,  222  -224;  contributions 
to  the  North  American  Review, 
239  ;  domestic  relations,  240 ;  life 
at  Pepperell,  241-244  ;  removal 
to  Beacon  Street,  244;  journey  to 
Washington,  247 ;  to  Albany,  247 ; 
letter  of  Mr.  Motley,  259-261; 
bad  state  of  his  eye,  262,  263; 
Ranke,  270,  271 ;  fear  of  deafness, 
277 ;  discouragement  and  anxie¬ 
ties,  273-  275;  failure  of  health, 
277;  visit  to  Washington,  278; 
to  England,  279  -  320;  youthful 
appearance,  301  ;  difficulties, 
824,  325;  political  opinions,  335; 
political  conversation,  356;  his 
different  homes,  364-374;  first 
summer  at  Lynn,  375;  corre¬ 
spondence,  383  -  395  ;  apoplec¬ 
tic  attack  and  recovery,  396  -  399 ; 
occupations  subsequently,  400- 
402;  correspondence,  403-410; 
death  and  funeral,  412  -  416 ; 
regularity  of  his  habits,  433 ;  pre¬ 
ferred  literary  to  civil  history, 
433;  love  of  his  books,  435;  liter¬ 
ary  honors,  436,  437 ;  translations 
of  his  histories,  438, 439,  440 ;  con¬ 
versation  with  Rev.  Mr.  Milbum, 
441,  442,  443;  feelings  of  grati 
tude  to  his  countrymen,  443;  ex¬ 
pressions  of  individual  sorrow  at 
his  death,  444-446. 

Prescott,  William  Amory,  son  of 
the  historian,  242,  297,  429. 

Prescott,  William  Gardiner,  son 
of  the  historian,  6  note,  242;  in 
London,  297  ;  at  Castle  Howard, 
313;  his  marriage  and  children, 
429. 

Putnam,  Mrs.,  6  note. 

Putnam,  General,  403. 

Queen  Victoria,  presentation  to, 
289,  295  ;  court  ball,  296;  visit  to 
Castle  Howard,  313. 

Ramirez,  J.  F.,  notes  on  the  “  Con¬ 
quest  of  Mexico,”  407,  440. 

Ranke,  L.,  assists  Mr.  Prescott  in 
collecting  materials,  268 ;  his  Span¬ 
ish  Empire,  270  ;  Mr.  Prescott 
prints  part  of  it  for  his  private  use, 
271. 

Raphael’s  cartoons,  41. 

Raumer,  F.  von,  Sixteenth  and 
Seventeenth  Centuries,  194. 


Readers  of  Mr.  Prescott.  See  Secre¬ 
taries. 

Relazioni  Venete,  194,  252,  253,  348 
note. 

Resolutions  of  Mr.  Prescott  as  a  basis 
of  conduct,  15,  16,  136  and  note. 

Reviews,  why  Mr.  Prescott  wrote 
them,  238;  list  of,  239  note;  opin¬ 
ions  on  reviewing,  238,  239  ;  small 
value  of,  350. 

Rheumatism  of  Mr.  Prescott,  28,  31, 
40,  47,  118,  364. 

Richards,  the  Rev.  George,  lines 
on  Mr.  Prescott’s  death,  445. 

Richmond,  portrait  of  Mr.  Prescott, 
295. 

Ripley,  George,  356. 

Robertson,  William,  79  note;  his 
Charles  V.,  179  ;  his  America,  197; 
his  Charles  V.  continued  by  Mr. 
Prescott,  376,  379,  390. 

Rogers,  S.,  letters  from,  169,  197 ; 
anecdotes  of,  294  ;  visits  to,  299. 

Saint  Michael’s  Island,  visits  to,  31- 
39. 

Sala,  Journey  due  North,  412. 

Salem,  life  in,  during  Mr.  Prescott’s 
boyhood,  5. 

Schafer,  IL,  History  of  Spain,  161 

note. 

Scott,  Sir  W.,  power  to  resist  pain, 
236  note ;  Review  of  his  Life  by 
Lockhart,  237  ;  love  of  his  novels, 
242,  367,  369  note,  398  ;  Miss  Edge- 
worth  on,  253;  his  diaries,  294,  299; 
his  last  illness,  398. 

Scott,  General  Winfield,  project 
for  a  history  of  his  Conquest  of 
Mexico,  272. 

Scottish  popular  poetrv,  Review  of, 
236. 

Scribe,  Sir  Robert  Peel’s  mistake 
about,  286  note. 

Secretaries  to  Mr.  Prescott,  difficult 
to  obtain,  77,  78;  list  of,  78  note. 

Shaw,  Mrs.  Howland,  278. 

Shaw,  William  Smith,  founder  of 
the  Boston  Athenasum,  8. 

Sherwood,  Mrs.  John,  sonnet  by, 
374  note. 

Simancas  Castle,  documents  in,  226 , 
difficulty  of  access  to,  266 ;  materi¬ 
als  from,  obtained,  269,  270 ;  part 
found  in  Paris,  342,  346. 

Simonds,  Henry  C.,  Secretary  to 
Mr.  Prescott,  78  note. 

Sismondi,  J.  C.  L.,  letter  from,  167. 

Smith,  Alexander,  earlv  friend, 
2S0,  321. 

Solis,  “  Conquista  de  Mexico,”  firsr 


INDEX 


457 


Spanish  book  read  by  Mr.  Prescott, 
68,  69. 

Southey,  It.,  on  “  Ferdinand  and  Isa¬ 
bella,”  113  and  note. 

Sparks,  Jared,  of  the  Club,  62 
note;  on  “  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,” 
97  ;  edition  of  Washington’s  Works, 
333. 

Spiritual  manifestations,  87  note. 

Spooner,  W.  J.,  of  the  Club,  62  note. 

Sprague,  Charles,  Ode  to  Shake¬ 
speare  reviewed  bv  Mr.  Prescott, 
88. 

Stackpole,  J.  L.,  260  and  note. 

Stafford  House,  289. 

Stanley,  Lord,  286. 

Stephens’s,  J.  L.,  Central  America, 
197. 

Stirling,  William,  Memoir  of  Mr. 
Prescott,  284;  relations  with  him, 
326 ;  his  Cloister  Life  of  Charles  V., 
378. 

Story,  Mr.  Justice,  6. 

Style  of  Mr.  Prescott,  great  pains 
taken  with,  203  -  205  ;  Ford  on  it, 
206;  its  freedom,  210;  consistent 
with  the  author’s  character,  212; 
his  individuality  in  it,  212  ;  influ¬ 
enced  bv  his  infirmity  of  sight,  213, 
214;  result,  214,  216. 

Styluses  used  with  the  noctograph,  to 
whom  given,  360. 

Sumner,  Charles,  illness  of,  225; 
visit  with,  to  Washington,  246 ;  Sen¬ 
ator,  330,  332 ;  relations  with,  336 ; 
on  war,  352,  353 ;  his  visit  to  Eng¬ 
land,  395  ;  letters  to,  339,  348,  349, 
351,  352,  353. 

Sutherland,  Duchess  of,  visit  to, 
317. 

Swords,  The  Crossed,  61, 895,  430-432. 

Taschereau,  Jules,  152. 

Taylor,  President,  278. 

Ternaux-Compans,  267. 

Thackeray,  W.  M.,  355,  359,  430. 

Thanksgiving  in  Bedford  Street,  365. 

Thayer,  N.,  247. 

Thierry,  P.  Augustin,  blindness,  89, 
119  note;  letters  from,  168,  255. 

Ticknor,  Mrs.  Anna,  letters  to,  242, 
298. 

Ticknor,  Miss  Anna,  letters  to,  173, 
174,  176. 

Ticknor,  George,  acquaintance  with 
Mr.  Prescott  as  a  boy,  7 ;  during  an 
illness  in  Boston,  29 ;  in  Paris,  43 ; 
in  his  family,  50;  readings  togeth¬ 
er,  57 ;  relations  on  English  studies, 
58  ;  on  Spanish  studies,  67 ;  on  Ital¬ 
ian  58-68,70,71;  letters  to,  68,  61, 
20 


100, 102, 104, 108,  152.  153,  160  note, 
190,292,  308;  letters  from,  102,  110  j 
Review  of,  237,  265;  remarks  on, 
441.  442. 

Tocqukville,  Alexis  de,  on  review 
writing,  239. 

Translations  of  Mr.  Prescott’s  works, 
438  -  440. 

Trench,  Dean,  442. 

Trentham,  visit  to,  317. 

True  Grandeur  of  Nations,  by  Mr. 
Sumner,  353. 

Tuckeiiman,  II.,  232  note. 

Tudor,  William,  246  note. 

Turnbull,  D.,  341,  342. 

Twisleton,  Edward,  324,  391. 

Tytler,  Patrick  Frazer,  letters 
from,  169,  180,  201;  on  review  writ 
ing,  238,  239. 

Unitarianism,  293. 

Vargas  y  Ponce,  manuscripts,  166. 

Vega,  Maria  Gonzalez  de  la,  400, 
438. 

Veytia,  History,  195. 

Victoria,  Queen.  See  Queen  Vic¬ 
toria. 

Voltaire’s  Charles  XII.,  175, 176. 

Wagers  or  bonds  to  induce  work,  137, 
138,  241,  245. 

Wainwriqht,  Bishop,  of  the  Club, 
62  note;  visit  to,  188  and  note. 

Ware,  George  F.,  Secretary,  78  note. 

Ware,  Henry,  Senior,  13. 

Ware,  John,  of  the  Club,  52  note;  on 
Mr.  Prescott’s  character,  87  note. 

Warren,  Henry,  of  the  Club,  52 
note. 

Warren,  General  Joseph,  404,422. 

Washington,  visits  at,  246,  278. 

Washington,  President,  Irving’s 
Life  of,  394;  edition  of  his  Works 
by  Sparks,  333. 

Watson,  R.,  the  historian,  79  note, 
180,  270. 

Webster,  Daniel,  on  the  “  Ferdi 
nand  and  Isabella,”  101;  Senator  at 
Washington,  278;  on  Mr.  Prescott 
Senior,  426. 

Webster,  Nathan,  120,  220. 

Wellington,  Duke  of,  283, 294, 295. 

Wensleydale,  Lord.  See  Parke, 
Baron. 

Whitebait  dinner,  326. 

Whiting,  Martin,  of  the  Club,  62 
note. 

Wilberforce,  Samuel.  See  Ox¬ 
ford,  Bishop  of. 

I  William  of  Orange,  302. 


458 


INDEX. 


Williams,  E.  Dwigiit,  Secretary  to 
Mr.  Prescott,  T8  note. 

Windsor  Park,  287. 

Win'throp,  Francis  William,  of  the 
Club,  62  note. 

Winthrop,  Robert  C.,  President  of 
the  Massachusetts  Historical  So¬ 
ciety,  480,  431. 


W ithlvgton,  G.  R.  M.,  Secretary  to 
Mr.  Prescott,  78  note. 

Wolf,  Ferdinand,  assists  Mr.  Pres¬ 
cott,  268. 

Women  in  London,  none  old,  297. 
Wood’s  Hole,  visit  to,  177,  186. 

Yuste,  Diaries  about  Charles V  at,  261 


GETTY  RESEARCH  INSTITUTE 


3  3125  01515  3774 


